The Mark of Cain
by IDontKnow1-9
Summary: Dean will have to go on a perilous journey after receiving the Mark, bringing Sam and Cas along with him. He knows he has to kill the final knight of Hell, but what he doesn't know is that the quest doesn't stop there... Rated T for just in case, and might move onto M later on (if decided) The endgame is Destiel, but there will be other pairings throughout.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoy the story I wrote. I got really inspired after this week's episode (most watched what!) and decided to write this story. These characters belong to the creators of Supernatural and I only use them to the best of my imagination. The plot is going to start off going along with the show, but it's going to veer off, so watch out! Enjoy the story:  
**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 1

Calloused fingers trace over the raised flesh. Stroke after stroke, trying to make sure that it was real. And that everything had actually happened. He's going over the past few weeks, going over everything that led him to where he is now: sitting in the driver's seat of his Baby. Waiting for the King of Hell to deliver to him a weapon so powerful, it can kill the last Knight of Hell. To a normal person, this would drive anyone insane. But to Dean Winchester, it was just another Tuesday night.

And let's not forget that now he's been marked by Cain, the totally justified first murderer. All in all, it's been a pretty _great_ day for the eldest Winchester.

Now, with only the blaring sound of silence filling his ears, he concentrates on the whirlwind of thoughts flowing through his mind. The first and foremost being:

'_What am I going to tell Sammy?_'

Does he lie? Go back on his word after promising Sammy the umpteenth time he would never do so again? Betray his only kin?

Does he tell the truth? Explain how he is the only one who can sympathize with Cain, can handle his power? And deal with the disappointed stare and taciturn frown?

'_What about Cas?_'

He almost forgot the Angel of Thursday, which is surprising with how he usually dominates his thoughts… but he'll focus on that another day. Maybe when he can accept the fact he's the new cursed man from biblical times. But back onto the topic at hand: how can he show up with another man's mark on him? Would that be some form of cheating on their… profound bond, as he calls it?

'_Too many thoughts. Not enough alcohol._'

Finally, Dean starts the car and drives away from the dark enclave where the demon king left him. Away from the dark thoughts plaguing him.

'_If Crowley wants me, he knows where to find me._'

Driving always relax Dean, when he was a kid, even now as an adult. The open road… no end in sight, like forever condensed. No ending, no sense of loss, just the need to go the extra mile. Always moving on, never staying too long to see what you left behind, always looking ahead because looking behind will most likely kill you. Drowning out whatever you want with the white noise of the stereo. No thinking, just instinct.

Just what he needs.

Because right now, he doesn't want to feel. He doesn't want to have all the responsibility that's been thrust upon him at his age. He's died who knows how many times, come back to life, has watched almost all his family die, and now… he's just another pawn in the game of Hell.

Only now the king on the board has changed.

And he's not really a pawn, he's a little more important than that. The bishop? Nah, this is Hell, what religion do they have? The rook? No… what even _is _a rook anyway? The queen? Well, with the way he's been _thinking_ nowadays… No. He knows what he is:

A knight.

The newest knight of the brotherhood of Hell.

Looks like Abbadon has some competition.

Well... if she _survives._

Which, hopefully, she doesn't.

After a couple hours of driving, he finally looks out the side window to look at a road sign and- _wow_. Instincts really do kick in. He's only a couple miles away from Lebanon, Kansas. A few of miles away from the Bunker. From Sam. Cas. _Home_.

The first thing that comes to mind is that he should keep driving. When he hits the town keep going until it's behind you once more. Keep Sam and Cas safe. Keep them in the dark. Let him handle this on his own before he gets the last people who he cares for killed. Sure, they've all been resurrected more than Jesus Christ, but he can never take that risk. Ever.

But then he thinks of Sam. How he smiles whenever Dean enters the room. His ever-present bitch-face that dials up the sass. The way he gets excited over every new piece of geeky information.

Then he thinks of Cas. The way the angel's bright, true blue eyes get even brighter (if that's possible) when Dean gives him a simple smile. How, when he's not doing something, he unconsciously looks towards Dean (he's noticed). The curve of his-

Now he _knows _he's getting off track. He also knows he's closing in on the town. He has to make a choice. He has to choose: keep going forward and away from his only family, or drag them into something he's started, again.

He curses himself as he turns the wheel in the direction of the bunker.

Sure, what he's doing is dangerous. He's done dangerous so many times that it's become mundane. Supernatural is super-ordinary. His best friend is a freaking _angel_! So he should be fine with bringing both said angel and brother into his messed up mission.

So why does he freeze up half a mile away from the Bunker. Thank whatever deity that's up there he has sense enough to put on the brake, but why can't he strike up the nerve to start up Baby again? Drive the last couple of yards to the Bunker? Make it to the only home he's ever known?

The safety of the Impala is all to comforting, and he loses himself in its confines. He wastes an hour, maybe two, just sitting in the car staring straight ahead. To anyone else outside it would look like he just ran into some car problems. But only he knows that he is faced with a strong dilemma at hand.

His hand goes back to stroking the mark. Up. Down. Repeat.

The problem he had at the beginning has resurfaced, and now he's looking into the lion's den with no idea how to get out. The stroking increases in speed, and his nails start to dig in. His breathing picks up speed as well.

'_Just what I need… a panic attack_."

He's trying to control his breathing, but that never works. The car starts to feel smaller and smaller. The nails dig in more, and he can smell the tangy copper of blood. A strangled sound escapes his throat. Tears start to sting his eyes. His breathing becomes choppier and choppier. He can't deal with the weight on his shoulders. It's just too much this time. After everything that's happened, why does it always fall back to him to clean up everyone's mess! Especially when he can't get a handle on his own messes! It's all getting to him. There's no alcohol anywhere to calm the fear. Unload the burden. Ease him into oblivion. Although, the freak-out he's having is doing a pretty good job, as darkness borders his vision. It's all building and building until-

A soothing pulse shoots through his body, and he starts to ease back into his seat. His hand is still on the mark, but now he can focus again. He can breathe.

'_What was that?!_'

He looks down to where he expects a bloody mess, but removing his hand shows the mark, seemingly the same as it was before. Like he didn't just claw at it like a madman clamoring for freedom. But a closer look shows the mark to be… _thrumming_ with a sort of energy. Something that wasn't there before. His emerald stare pierces the throbbing scar, trying to unlock the secrets it holds with a piercing glare.

'_**Just like your angel, right?**_'

"Who was that!?" Dean demands, scanning the car for the unknown voice.

'_**In here, Dean.**_'

Dean realizes where the voice is, and more importantly, _who_ it is.

"Cain! What are you doing in my head?"

'_**I told you I would be calling you soon, how did you think I would be doing it?**_'

"Nice to see you too," Dean bites back, "but can you please tell me why you called me before I resume my freak-out."

'_**Well then, I'd have to put a stop to that too.**_'

"Hold up." His hand flies up. "You caused the mark to start… doing stuff?"

'_**Yes. I made the mark… "do stuff".**_'

"How?"

Dean would never admit it, but he's really dying to know how the inventor of fratricide has his head number. He's stingier with that more than his cell number.

'_**To soothe your burning curiosity, I will tell you. Once I gave you that mark, we became linked. My mind is connected to yours, allowing me to see what you are thinking and giving me access to all your memories. And my… do you have a LOT of naughty ones… Why, you've chased more tail than a dog, you cad!**_'

Dean's face flushes at the jibe, and shakes his head.

"Alright, can we focus on something else? Like this mark? I remember scratching at it until it started to bleed, so why is the skin not broken?"

'_**Along with me being able to reach into your mind, I was able to soothe you of your slight meltdown. As for the mark, as long as you bear it, any injury you suffer will disappear, and your body will repair itself.**_'

"So… it's like I have a patch of grace on my arm? Again?!"

'_**No. This mark is more demonic in nature. Not like your little blue-eyed birdy's power source. Along with healing abilities, you'll also notice an increase in human abilities and senses. And some powers might surface… but I'll let you discover those on your own.**_'

"There's more!? What powers are there? What if they show up when Cas and Sam are around? How would I explain that!?"

'_**You tell them the truth Dean Winchester. I may not have met them, but I have been digging around your subconscious for quite a while and let me just say that they can handle what you have on your shoulders, and more importantly your forearm. Sam has grown, and he sure is strong enough to handle the task ahead of you. And tall, too! I never knew someone could be that tall! And the angel, Castiel, is there any doubt in your mind that he won't accept you. That angel has followed you to Hell and back, with unquestioning loyalty. The amount of respect he holds for you, how he's forgiven you time after time you've messed up. And I won't even mention those memories with all the heat behind them. So… tell them about the mark. They will take it. They can handle it. They will accept you.**_'

Dean just leans back more into his seat, trying to process all the information that's swirling in his head.

'_**I'm going to leave you to your own choice. You have my opinion. I just hope you make the smartest choice.**_'

His mind soon returns to the inner turmoil it started out in. The advice Cain left him swirls in his mind, thick like cement, engraved in his brain. He tests the words on his mouth, saying them in different combinations, trying to get it out in the best possible way. He knows what he's going to do. He sits up straighter. He holds his head high. He pulls his hand away from the mark…

And to his rolled up sleeve. He unrolls the first sleeve, and buttons it at the wrist, covering his mark from view. He does the same to the second sleeve, to match. His hands return to the steering wheel, he starts up the car, and resumes his journey back to the bunker.

'_I've got to trust my instincts. Right now, it's the only thing I can trust._'

So he shuts his mind off and let's his body guide him back to the place where his brother and his angel are, waiting for him to return. Letting instinct take over and turning off his feelings.

Because… it's easier.

**Thank you all for reading this story. It's my first Supernatural story (or any story on this site, really). There will be more to come when the mood strikes me, so TO BE CONTINUED!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! I'm glad to all of you who enjoyed chapter 1 of my adventure in writing. Thank you to my first reviewer, you are very kind, and this is a little notice to let everyone know it is okay to review, in fact encouraged.**

**Also, shameless boost, if you like Supernatural, follow my tumblr .com. If you like comedy, follow my other tumblr .com**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except my computer and the keys**

**Enjoy chapter 2**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 2

The only sound in the large library is the fluttering of paper pages in a huge, leather-bound book. Smooth fingers glide across the ink, searching for information that may not be there. When he gets to the end of the book, he's certain it's not there. Another book down, only more to go. Like before the man gets up, switches books, sits down, and opens the tome. The process resumes.

He misses the days when he could look up information with a simple tug at his grace. How he could recite entire civilization's history in the time it would take to microwave a burrito. Lost novels and paintings could resurface in his mind like sunken treasures from the deep ocean.

But, not anymore.

Sure, he might have grace, but it is not _his_ grace. The grace he was created with. The grace his Father made for him alone, crafted with His love and His care. The grace that has protected and served him in every battle. The grace that has become connected with a certain hunter-

Back to the archives he must go. Drowning in past thoughts is not a healthy pastime. No matter how interesting the Winchesters make it seem.

Especially since he has no alcohol.

Not that it would affect him… given his return to heavenly status.

No more Castiel, the fallen angel. Now only Castiel, lost little angel.

He really should focus more on reading.

To help the Winchesters, and himself, he needs to find Metatron. And the only way to do that is to track Gadreel. The traitor, Gadreel. Defiler of mankind and the true serpent in the Garden. The angel their Father put His heavenly trust in to protect both Adam and Eve, and allow them to flourish. Instead, Eve became the creator of monsters and Adam… no one knows what became of Adam. Not even the Heavenly Host.

But that is not what he needs to think about. Gadreel is what should be on his mind.

Funny, since that was what he would think about all the time when he was younger. The fabled bad boy of Heaven. One of the first, created to serve mankind. Not even Lucifer could compare to the damage done by Gadreel. Lucifer may spread sin, but he did not _create_ it.

…Now he's starting to sound like a fanboy.

'_You're not like that anymore, Castiel. Get over this._'

He should have been able to recognize Gadreel from the beginning. Even without his grace, he should have been able to notice all the ticks Gadreel had. The things that only Gadreel could have done. How foolish of him to be swept away into humanity, to _trust_ everything was alright.

When he first heard of another angel helping the Winchesters, he should have listened to his jealousy. No one is allowed to help Dean except _him_.

It's common knowledge throughout Heaven...

Now where did he leave off?

_Flip._

Nowhere important, that's where. All these books, while stocked to handle anything of a _demonic_ nature, holds nothing on angels.

The book is thrown off towards the door. A door which was in the process of opening.

"Ow!"

Castiel's blue eyes fly towards the ajar entryway, where he meets disgruntled green eyes.

"Dean!"

He jumps from his seat and towards the hunter, who's in the process of closing the door.

"Dean! When did you get back? Why did you not call? Are you ok?" Castiel flurries his question while his hands search Dean's person, checking for any harm. All this is fine, until he gets near his right forearm.

"I'm fine Cas! Jeez!" he hurriedly replies, wretching his arm from the angel's near-iron grip. "I just went on a little hunt, cleared my head. Nothing different."

Hurt flashes through Castiel's eyes for a second, before they look away. Back towards the other books on the table.

"Yes, it is not different. It is just regular Winchester behavior to worry others who happen to _care_ about them. Why should _I _have expected anything different? It is not like you can grow up and realize this…"

Dean goes to follow.

"Look, Cas… I'm sorry I just left. I needed time to myself… to think. Things have just been getting crazy, and I haven't had much time to sort through everything. I've been going through stuff too… and, since Sam was free… I just needed to get some of it off my back."

Throughout his little speech, Dean kept his hand on Castiel's shoulder. Trying to get his head to turn towards him.

It had been working, as he can now see one of Castiel's baby blues peeking through his dark lashes, acceptance written clearly across the iris.

"But now I'm back… and I'm planning on staying. D'you think you can forgive me for my little mistake? It wouldn't be the first I made."

The hand that's not on his angel's shoulder is now scratching at the back of his head.

Castiel turns away for a moment, thinking the decision over in his head. Obviously he knows he's going to forgive Dean. From what he saw in the hunter's eyes he was sincere in his apology. However, he's not going to make it easy for his hunter. His eyes snap back to the hunter's face, a faux look of annoyance on his features.

"Of course it would not be the _first_ mistake… Dean."

The angel turns towards the hunter, staring him down. He makes his way closer to the man until their noses are nearly touching.

"But are you _sure_ you are done running away? That all the weight is gone from your shoulders? That you can accept help when someone _clearly _offers it?"

Dean may appear calm and collected on the outside, but the blush staining his cheeks lets any other person (that is not an angel) know the inner turmoil flowing through his head. His eyes quickly glance down at the angel's pink lips, then back to the hypnotic gaze.

"Y-y-yeah. I am."

He finally manages to stutter out a response, and waits for the angel to say something. The quick upturn of his lips clues him in on the answer playing in the other man's mind.

Castiel turns from Dean and back towards the books at the table. He sits, and pulls out another book from the pile before opening it up.

Dean just stands around, wondering what he should be doing.

Without even glancing up, Castiel gives him direction.

"Well? These books aren't going to read themselves, Dean."

Dean's grin grows as he joins the scruffy angel at the table, picking his own book, and opening it as well.

The room returns to the sound of flipping pages, but that is joined by the companionable silence radiating off the pair.

* * *

'_You can't really be serious… What have I done?!'_

'_Do it… to make this work they must be dead!'_

'_I'm sorry… there is… no other choice…'_

"Wha-"

Sam awakes with a start. His hand goes straight to his head, cradling the aching object delicately. He has no idea what just happened. One minute, he's asleep, and next, he's witnessing the murder of a woman.

No, not witnessing.

_Commiting._

And she wasn't just some woman.

She was an… _angel._

There's more to this, he knows this, but he can't put his finger on what… This dream means something. It _has_ to. Why would he dream this?

He's never seen that woman-angel before?!

But… now that he thinks of it… he has seen one of the people in his dream before.

A little man… or should he say a little _coward._

_ Metatron._

He leans up more on bed, brings his knees to his chest, arms draped on his legs, as he thinks about this.

'_Why would Metatron show up in one of my dreams?'_

He doesn't spend his waking moments thinking of that little imp, so why would his unconscious mind dream of him.

…Unless… it wasn't a dream…

He swings his legs over his bed now, new thoughts processing in his mind. Ideas that can, possibly, if used correctly, help them find the little imp and his snake.

Suddenly, like ice water being poured over him, he freezes as a chill washes over him.

Clarity shines down on him as he realizes what he was seeing.

Or _who_ he was seeing it from.

It must have been overlaying effects from the total takeover of his body.

A… _connection_… must have been formed, allowing him to… to…

_See_ what he sees… Feel what he feels.

This is good.

This is fantastic.

It's like his psychic powers, but with a heavenly source of power. Giving him the ability to get _inside_ the enemy's head, find out what they are planning, track them to their current location…

Can his life be any more _like_ Harry Potter's?

He's moving from his bed and down the stairs, flying across each step until he's in the threshold of the library where he left the angel in the trench coat, but what he finds makes him withhold his outburst.

Castiel is where he left him, reading away in the library.

What catches him is what is across from Castiel.

Or…_who _is across from Castiel.

Glancing from his book at the angel in question every few seconds or so, pages turning with no real effort to absorb the information in them.

This would be a question for another time if there weren't any pressing matters to attend to.

Like now, for instance.

"Dean!"

Both Dean and Castiel snap their heads up to the sound emanating from the doorway. However, where Castiel has a questioning smile on his face, Dean has an accusing frown on his face, already getting up from his seat. Away from his angel towards his brother.

"What are you doing up? Shouldn't you be recovering from Gadreel?"

"Dean, I'm fine. Cas here fixed me so I am up and running."

Dean turns towards his best friend.

"Is this true?"

"Yes, Dean. Sam is, as you would say, '100 percent ready to go'."

The use of air quotes was definitely not needed, but Sam chuckled as Dean's face showed how not amused he was at the angel's sudden desire for comedy.

Dean turns back towards Sam.

"So, Sammy, everything is better?"

"Yes, Dean. Everything is great! … Well, except maybe this one thing."

Now this causes Castiel to get up from his postion, and join Dean in his inquisiton.

"I thought we removed all traces of Gadreel's grace from your system?"

"Oh, you did, it's just that-"

"Just what, Sammy!"

Sam gives both men a look before he blurts out what he's been trying to get at from the beginning.

"I think I have a way we can track both Gadreel _and _Metatron."

Dean and Castiel both shoot Sam a look, before gesturing towards the table. They each take a seat, Sam across from both Dean and Castiel, and then Sam describes in detail the entirety of his realizations.

If Dean sits closer to Castiel than normal, no one really notices.

**I hope you enjoyed the 2****nd**** chapter! Enjoy your weekend and stay tuned for more to come.**

**Hint: The next chapter may seem a little more, devilish, than usual.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Howdy folks! Thank you for reading and sorry about those empty tumblr things! I didn't know I couldn't boost my own things on my stories!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the computer I type this on and the brain with which I think up my plots and ideas**

**I am also changing this story to M (just in case) and for things to come!**

**Enjoy this little foray into Hell and bring some snacks along for the ride!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 3

The sounds of tortured screams fill the room, as the man sitting in the chair, tied up and writhing in pain, can no longer hold it back. His entrails lie in a tastefully lain out pile by his feet. He hangs onto consciousness by a simple thread, his black eyes swimming, going in and out of focus. The knife that was just launched into his sternum is being slowly dragged out by a sinister porcelain hand, with expensive red nail polish painted on each delicate, but deadly finger. The owner of this _demonic_ hand wears a sinister smile upon her ruby red lips. Her smile might feign happiness, but her cold eyes scream murder.

…As does the man in her torture dungeon.

Well, not really a man.

More of a _demon._

A demon who just called her a bitch.

Well… now she's a bitch with _slippery hands._

"Whoops."

And now the de-_man_ is back to screaming.

"Now, now, Mr. Mc_Screamy_," she purrs, "all this could stop with just a word."

The knife is back in his chest.

Through the gritting teeth and murky blood, she hears a _no._

_ No?_

Does he know who he is talking to? Who he is saying _no_ to?

Abaddon, the reigning queen of Hell, that's who!

The knife ever so slowly inches down his body, leaving a river in its path.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time: What. Is Crowley. Planning?"

The man looks up, and motions his finger in a way that means, _come closer._ Abaddon inches her head forward, coming close enough she can smell the sulfur reeking off the barely there demon. He comes closer as well, as much as he can. He opens his mouth…

And spits a mixture of mostly blood and saliva straight onto her cheek.

He doesn't last long after that.

As she's cleaning off her _favorite_ torture knife, she hears the ever-telling sound of an arriving demon. Her head turns to see one of her trusted advisors come into the room, only stopping short as they notice the other body in the room.

"Busy? I can come back…"

"Not really," Abaddon waves the other demon off, "me and McScreamy were just finishing our little chat." Her hands give the corpse a little shake as the head rolls off the neck and onto the ground next to the chair.

"Oh… good then."

"So, what do you have for me?" she asks as she makes her way to the customary throne of skulls, which every evil villainess needs in her torture chamber. Her legs swing over the arms of the chair, and she rests her chin on one hand while the other plays with her fiery red hair.

"Well… our resources have new information on Crowley's forces."

"Really? Well that's good," Abaddon says. Her eyes rake over the room until they land on the dead body in the corner of the room. "Looks like we didn't need you, handsome…"

A short silence is shared between the two before Abaddon is nodding her head for the other demon in a female meat-suit to continue.

"Oh," she shakes her head, "right." Her heels click across the cold rock as she makes her way towards the queen on her pedestal. "It looks like Crowley is searching for something to defeat you…"

Before she can continue, Abaddon snarks back. "Is he looking for gumption? Because the only thing he's gonna find…"

"Is the First Blade."

The snarky smile is now on the assistant's caramel cheeks as Abaddon deflates before her eyes. The mistress of maliciousness sweeps her legs over the bones of a departed enemy, and marches herself over to the dead demon in the chair.

"Repeat that, will you?"

"Sources say that he is now scouring the oceans for the First Blade, and he's closing in on its whereabouts."

"And, did your _sources_ also tell you…_who_… can wield that blade?"

"The bearer of the Mark of Cain-"

"That's right!" Abaddon turns towards the woman. Her boots were made for walking and she is stomping up a storm, bringing her fury upon the demon. "Cain! Only Cain can handle that… _cursed_ weapon. And do you know where Cain is? He's not with us anymore. He's gone. Gone, gone, gone. Done. Cain is-"

"Alive."

This stops the red-haired raver in her tracks. The blood that _wasn't_ running through her veins turns cold. She turns back towards the corpse again.

"W-what?"

"Cain is alive. As in… _not_ dead."

"But… but he can't be! I _saw_ him die!" She's fingering the corpse now, touching the severed neck, circling the area where the head used to be, lost in thoughts of what used to be.

"Well… he's kicking. And shucking. And bee-keeping…"

"Can you get on with it!" Abaddon turns back towards the speaker, _failing_ at keeping her anger in check.

"He's alive!" She peeps behind her clipboard.

"And what? He's decided to _join_ with Crowley? Betray me and the knights even _further_? Lose what little trust he still had? Which was none!?"

Throughout this little tirade, her voice kept rising in volume, until she unsheathed her trusty knife and stabbed the corpse in his gaping neck-hole.

"Actually… he's not aligned with anyone."

Abaddon's breathing goes down to a reasonable rate, and she moves her body until she's behind the body.

"So? Why is Crowley looking for the First Blade? Only Cain can operate the weapon."

"That is why I said the 'bearer of the Mark of Cain'."

"And…?"

"Cain _willingly _gave up the Mark… and Crowley has found a poor soul who'd take it."

Abaddon's fingers move to her nose, pinching the bridge as she closes her eyes. "I'm not going to _like_ who Crowley has as the Mark bearer, am I?"

The demon looks down before she quickly replies: "It's Dean Winchester, ma'am."

What the lady demon was expecting was a string of curse words followed by harsh pain, but what she did not expect was a huff of laughter. Followed by a good, belly-holding laugh fest. While the future queen of Hell holds her sides next to the now rotting corpse, the assistant looks on with the upmost confusion. Finally, the laughing stops and the ruler regains her composure.

"Of course it is…" She looks back up. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it."

"Well then you're as useless to me as this guy over here."

And with that she picks up the knife and throws it at the un-expecting demon… hitting her square in the forehead and dropping her where she stood. The queen of mean strides over to her limp lackey, and nudges the body with her foot.

_Tsk. Tsk._

"It is _so_ hard to find good help these days."

* * *

"It is so _hard_ to find good help these days."

Crowley, clad in his midnight black suit, stands at his desk after menacingly glaring _and _threatening his team of demons after their search of the Indian Ocean was a bust. Seriously, did he get all the _duds_ on his ticket? Brushing invisible lint off his shoulder, he moves around his desk towards his personal map, where he crosses the Indian Ocean off in red ink.

"One body of water down… only more to search."

His teams have gotten through the Indian, the Pacific, _and _the Mediterranean. You would think everything that's lost would find its way towards the "Lost City of Atlantis", but, _que sera sera._

Not time to worry about that.

Only time to worry about the uprisings, the murders, the deals… and the betrayal.

Always the betrayal.

Specifically the one he is working on with a certain Dean Winchester, bearer of Hell's special claim.

Funny, how he worked with the one boyfriend for power, and now he's working with the other for the same thing.

However… he will be doing the betraying _this time_.

Crowley is a changed man. He knows that when he gets involved with "Team Free Will", you need a back-up plan. Otherwise, you can just kiss your life good-bye. Just ask… anyone really. Kevin. Jo. Ellen. Bobby.

…He missed Bobby. He was always a good soul down here, little bit of pleasure he allowed himself from time to time.

Curse the day little Bullwinkle decided to spring him from his hellish prison.

Go-go cages aren't made like they were used to.

But life must go on… and his extra three inches must be put to use elsewhere.

'_Like finding this_ _blasted blade!_'

He's wasting precious time he could be using to… _campaign_ for his cause, searching for a lost artifact that could _seal_ his place as reigning king of Hell.

Pun completely intended.

Now he's staring at a map, red marker in hand, as his mind races with a million thoughts.

Sometimes it isn't fun being the king.

But he would never trade this position for any other.

Because the only position left… is _death_.

And really you don't want to die a demon. If you think _Hell_ is bad… you don't want to know what's next.

It makes Hell look like Purgatory. And even that is being nice.

But he can't think about that, because then he makes it a possibility. And he wants to avoid _that_ from being any more than a wayward thought.

The opening of a door signals that another demon has come with information.

He doesn't even turn around when he utters: "Unless you have anything that isn't 'not found yet'… I don't even want to see you."

The door quickly closes again.

Crowley stalks back to his desk and takes a seat. He spins his chair once… twice…

He's thinking…

Really, he doesn't even understand _why_ he's being challenged. Hasn't he provided well for his demonic peasants? Gotten them all the souls they can want? Given them the ability to go to the surface and stake a claim in poor, unsuspecting communities and gather all the souls in town in little time?

'_Who is this…_ _trash… thinking_ _she can come into my castle? Take my crown? Usurp my power?_'

She obviously must be stuck in the dark ages if she thinks her way is the only way.

'_My way is the only way.'_

Now he's stuck in his little office… okay maybe not _little_… in his _cozy_ office, while his lackeys circle the globe, searching every little crevice of the ocean for the only thing that can fix his little _pest probem._

"Sir! Sir! Breaking news!"

A demon runs into the room, swinging the door open as he stops inches away from his leader on the desk. He's out of breath, but a giant grin is on his face.

"What? What's going on?"

Crowley has a good idea what is so great, but he's going to wait until the words are spoken.

"We've found the First Blade! Apparently it was nestled in the Bermuda Triangle! Right between Amelia Earhart's ribs!"

Crowley feels stupid after the discovery.

"Of course! If you want to find something evil, you've got to search where evil was born!"

Crowley is now on his feet and on the move. He exits his office with his servant hot on his heels. "Where is the damned thing?"

"It's in the examination room. Our best demons are going over the finer points of the blade to see if there is any way we can re-create it."

"There's no way you can, you daft fool! It's an _artifact_ of Hell!"

Sometimes, he can't believe the people he works with.

Finally, the two make it to the room where the first murder weapon is being housed, being gawked over by a couple of demons in lab coats.

"Away, you blithering idiots, away! I need to see this for myself!"

The demons look offended, but know which battles they should fight. Any with Crowley, mean none. They leave, and only Crowley and the blade are left.

And the lackey.

He picks up the First Blade, and proceeds to stroke it covetingly.

A cough is heard in the background.

Crowley turns his head to see the lackey from before still there, with his ever-present smile stretched over his young face.

What is he, only sixteen?

What a waste…

With a quick swipe of the blade, he strikes the teen's neck and the head rolls off to the corner of the room. He takes out a rag and begins to wipe down the offending blood from the precious testament to time.

Besides, he's got work for this weapon. And he needs it clean before he… taints it.

* * *

"So… what are you doing again?"

Abaddon's _new_ assistant, a pluckly little brunette with big shoes to fill and an even bigger cup size, stands to the side in confusion as Abaddon works the ground into a series of sigils.

"I'm making sure we don't lose this war."

When she's done with her work, she takes her knife and slits her hand, taking the leaking appendage and placing it over the smallest of sigils.

A great series of lights stem from each sigil, until the biggest one glows the brightest, making both the assistant and the demon queen cover their eyes.

When the makeshift Aurora Borealis finally stops, two figures are left in its wake: a handsome, striking, tall man and a little imp of a man. Well, they aren't really men…

…More like… _angels._

"What do you want, _Abaddon,_" the littlest one sneers.

"Metatron, Gadreel, nice to meet you both."

"Cut the casualties, lady," Metatron bites back, "why have you summoned us?"

"Let's just say… I'm looking for a little… _insurance_."

* * *

Crowley places the blade onto his desk, and drags out a couple of ingredients. He brings out everything he needs for what he is about to perform.

He meant what he said when you need a back-up plan when dealing with Winchesters & Co. And… let's just say this little doozy has been cooking in his mind since he first saw the Mark on Dean's arm.

As his words lilt over the incantation he's come to know by heart, he can't help but let his mind drift.

It drifts to the important question:

Why is he doing this?

'_Let's just say I'm looking for… a little insurance._'

**Dun Dun DUN!**

**What are these two little schemers planning!?**

**Well… that's for me to know and for you to find out…**

**I hope you enjoyed this little dive into the depths of Hell, because next time we're back on the surface!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter! I formed the idea for the chapter, and when I sat down to type it… my fingers were hovering over the keyboard while my mind was frozen.**

**Don't you just HATE Writer's Block?**

**Anywho, I am glad people enjoyed the last chapter. I hope I was **_**true**_** to the characters, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well (longest to date and counting)!**

**Disclaimer: (German accent) I own nothing.**_** Nothing!**_

**If you guys get the reference good for you!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 4

'_I don't like this. Not one bit.'_

That is all Dean can think as he lays on his bed at around 3 in the morning. He's changed for bed, flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt instead of his normal short sleeve (to cover the Mark). Yet he's far from sleep. His foot taps a silent rhythm into the air, beating along to the drum of his thoughts. This isn't the first time he's dealt with a sleepless night, but he can't go for the bottle otherwise Sammy would know something was wrong.

'_Sammy…_'

He just got his brother back, and now they are throwing him back into the lion's den. Back into Gadreel, the only difference being that Sam knows what is going on.

Dean still doesn't like it.

Even after the _long_ talk they had, and all the assurances from both Sam_ and _Cas.

He just can't risk Sam's life again. He just can't. Sam deserves some time to heal and get back on his feet. He needs to cool off before he throws himself back into the fire.

A pain starts to thrum into his head… joining the dull ache in his arm.

He moves his hand from the back of his head to his forearm, rubbing it slowly, kneading out the pain that built there.

Dean just hasn't been the same since the Mark was placed on his arm. He's sore all over, he's been more irritable, and he's been freer with his words.

There were too many close calls earlier in the day with Cas. Thank God he can still sleep.

'**Did you maybe think there was a reason for you to say your mind?**'

Dean shoots up in bed.

"Cain! Wha- ow…"

He should be angry, but there is so much tension in his body he just makes his headache even stronger. He cradles his head in his hands and tries to work up his annoyance.

'**The one and only. Now, how have they reacted to the news?**'

"You should know, since you can look into my mind and all that other crap."

Cain sighs through their psychic link, and, really, how can someone sigh in his mind, Dean thinks.

'**I can, now shut up and listen.'**

Dean starts to get up, and pads his way to his door.

"No. I can block out my usual thoughts, and you should be just as easy."

'**I won't be shut out that easily Dean.**'

As Cain starts to berate Dean for his choice of _not_ telling his brother and best friend, Dean distracts himself with nonsensical thoughts.

'_Why does this always happen to me?_'

'_If only Sammy didn't toss out all the booze._'

'_I should have worn socks… or at least put down some carpet. These stone floors are cold!_'

It takes some time before he realizes he shuffled his way down towards the kitchen. Lying on the counter is a half-finished pb&j, and Dean can only smile at the _adorable_ face his angel made when he tried the snack again, hoping he could just taste the flavor and not the particles.

'**-with all my experience you should really- Dean? Are you listening to me? He's not even in the room and you can't even stop thinking about him. That's another thing you should let go. All these secrets are not healthy for the soul.**'

The scowl returns to Dean's face.

"And what should you know about having a soul. If I'm not mistaken, didn't you sell yours to a demon?"

'**I could ask you the same thing.**'

"Touche…"

He's making his way to the garbage can with the discarded treat when he stops due to Cain asking:

'**Can you really, truly live when you have to hide yourself from those who care about you?**'

Dean freezes, sandwich and plate still in hand, as his mind mulls over the words Cain has just imparted on him. He's been on this idea for a while now, but every time he even thinks of saying one word about any of the stuff he's locked inside, his mouth goes dry, his vision blurry, and his body numb.

It's like a self-defense mechanism: his body shuts down to protect him from the unknown. From the slightest chance that Dean _is_ wrong, and they _don't_ accept him.

Because he'd rather live with the pain then die from abandonment.

He knows it's not healthy… but he's in too deep to care. His family is all he has left. It's what he identifies with the most, and if that's gone…

Then what would be left of _him_?

"I get what you're saying. I really do… but I can't even take that risk."

His mark starts to burn. That dull ache that was pushed to the back of his mind being brought back to the forefront.

It's worse than the fires of Hell, then some of the torture he's experience. Some of the torture he's _given_.

He drops the sandwich onto the floor, the bread falling apart and the peanut butter getting onto the floor while the jelly gets smeared on his foot. His left hand goes straight for the mark on his arm, pressing down on the scar to stop the searing pain. Dean hunches in on himself, trying not to alert others to his intense pain.

Too late.

"Dean? Dean!? Are you okay?"

In an instant Sam is rushing over to Dean, and he only has enough time to roll down his sleeves before his moose of a brother is checking him for the damage. Dean quickly brushes him off and steps to the side (and unfortunately on the peanut butter).

"Nothing, Sammy. I just banged into something… you know. Tired and all, my reflexes aren't as sharp as they should be."

It's a lie, but thankfully one Sam can believe.

"Alright," Sam drawls, "but would you like anything for the pain?"

Dean's quickly about to say no… but with the mark back to a slight ache, he succumbed to his brother's requests, and quickly downed a couple of pain killers.

They worked their magic, and soon Dean was feeling a bit better.

At least, enough so he can actually move without every nerve being on fire.

Sam and him start to clean up the mess he made of the sandwich, mopping up the floor and wiping his feet. Soon, they find themselves seated at the table, sleep long forgotten and both clearly awake.

"So…" Sam starts, "you want to tell me why you were up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," Dean quickly replies, eyes straight ahead, "it's not the first time that's happened to me."

"Yeah, but _why_ couldn't you sleep?"

Dean's about to answer _because I'm lying to you again_, but as always the words get caught in his throat. So instead, he grunts out:

"Just thinking, s'all…"

"Thinking?"

Sam's tone screams incredulousness, and he's already powered up to bitch face number 35, but Dean has his eyes glued to the table. Unwilling to reveal any more than he already has. A beat of silence and Sam huffs.

"You know, I was going to wait until you came to me about this, but you and I need to discuss something. Something that you have been hiding."

Dean's head snaps up so fast he could have gotten whiplash, his eyes widen, and the denial is already in his tongue.

The only words flying through his head are: '_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._' All of this in a constant loop.

The brothers say their piece at the same time.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You have it bad for Cas."

It takes a couple of minutes, but soon Dean begins to process what Sam said to him. He breathes a sigh of relief in his mind, his back slips out of its rigidness. But soon Dean is back on the defensive as his _other_ secret has been revealed.

At least this one has fewer consequences.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean starts to get up, but Sam is in hot pursuit, not one for brushing things under the carpet and never speaking of them ever again. _Ever_.

"C'mon Dean. It's not like you're subtle about it either. I saw how you looked at him. I've seen how you've been looking at him for a while now."

Sam's just teasing Dean now. It makes him feel lighter, that even in all this chaos they can still do normal brotherly things. If only Dean felt the same way. As the weight poured off of Sam's chest it compressed right down on Dean's.

"If I ignore you long enough, maybe you'll get the hint that I _don't_ want to talk. You know my rule on chick flick moments."

"Is it really a chick flick moment if we're talking about you wanting to get into a certain angel _man's_ pants?"

The sarcastic response rolled off so naturally, that the glare he received would send even leviathans to quiver in soiled underwear.

Sam doesn't get the hint, and keeps on rolling.

"I mean, your little crush on Cas explains why you haven't shaved. Typical butch man trying to throw off suspicion by having a _beard_."

"If you two do get together, does this mean you'd have been… _touched by an angel_?"

"Be careful Dean, his Father might not approve…"

"ENOUGH!"

Dean has had enough and whirls on Sam. Since escape is no longer on the table, he does what any caged animal would do and _attacks_.

"Can you learn that I am dealing with a shit ton of stress right now! I don't need you acting like a little _bitch_ at ass o'clock in the morning! What I think shouldn't even be on your radar right now! I'm entitled to my feelings and my privacy, so if I don't want to talk about it, then you better _believe_ I won't be talking about my "so-called" crush on-"

"What is the matter, Dean?"

Both brothers turn to see a third guest to Dean's little tirade. Castiel, rubbing his eyes, slumps his way over to the two. The pajamas he wears hang off his frame (Dean's of course) since the clothes he had as a human are somewhere else.

Sam and Dean both gape like a fish, one wondering how to explain the situation while the other prays to every god in the book that Castiel did not hear the _entire_ conversation.

However, before one of them could say something, Castiel looks towards the counter.

"What happened to my sandwich?"

Now Dean's cheeks tint red, as he cheekily confesses to dropping the stale snack. Yet he thanks his lucky stars that his angel is still as oblivious as ever.

'_**Your**_** angel huh? Does he know he's **_**your**_** angel?**'

The tiny smile that graced Dean's face quickly fell as he remembered the annoying little voice inside his head, pressing his buttons in all the right places. The ache starts again in his arm, and Dean starts to knead it up and down.

Sam then breaks the awkward silence with an important question.

"So, why are you up Cas?"

"Well, Sam, I was enjoying my sleep, dreaming about those guinea pigs we talked about before, when suddenly I awoke to a rumble. My sleep addled mind was startled at first, but then I remembered that stomachs tend to do that sometimes. So, I decided to try that PB&J one more time… at least I wanted to until it was unceremoniously dropped on the floor."

He shoots a look at Dean, and the guilty look on his face is enough to satisfy Castiel. However, the look is for Cain and not Cas, as Dean barely focuses on the angel's discourse, rather focusing on the argument swirling in his mind.

"As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard loud voices coming from the kitchen. I couldn't make out what you two were saying, so I decided to investigate. When I finally got to the kitchen, I stumbled upon you, Dean, yelling at you, Sam.

Sam then asks the question that was on Dean's mind the minute he saw Castiel in the threshold of the kitchen:

"So… you didn't hear anything we said?"

"No, Sam… Why? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

"No, no. It's just personal stuff. Right, _Dean_?"

Sam calling his name snaps Dean back into reality, and as he looks from hazel eyes to blue eyes, he finds himself nodding along to whatever his brother said.

'**Someone needs to pay attention more…**'

'_Well, maybe if some old coot wasn't trying to chat me up in the middle of my beauty sleep none of this would have happened!_'

So Dean resumes his internal battle of wills raging within his consciousness, as Sam and Castiel continue their conversation. Castiel looks towards Dean, and notices the faraway look in his eyes. He would say something, but knowing Dean he'd close up even more and run away like he always does. So, his gaze returns to the other brother as they continue to talk.

"And all you needed was a snack?"

"I did… but I might just wait until morning now…"

"No need," Sam grins, opportunity taken and an idea forming in his mind. "I'm sure Dean will be happy to help make you a sandwich."

Sam rises from the table now. "As for me, I have to go back to bed."

Castiel bids the departing brother a good night, while Dean is still trapped within his own mind. The angel looks upon him with soft eyes, his total attention fixed on his frame. The hunched over posture, the downcast eyes, the laced fingers…

All the signs of someone feeling guilty.

So he decides to try something that his little foray into humanity has taught him:

He puts his hand over Dean's hands…

And instantly Dean skyrockets into awareness, flinching away like he was burned, his cheeks tinged slightly red.

Castiel tries not to let disappointment show in his face, but instead laces his voice with concern.

"Dean, is there something troubling you?"

_Yes._ "No."

"Are you sure Dean, because if there is… you do know that I am here for you, right?"

"I know. And everything is _totally_ fine." _Except the fact that I am lying to you and Sammy, again._

'**You wouldn't have to if you would have just followed my advice…**'

Dean can no longer stand it. Before he does something that he regrets, he dashes away from his concerned friend and towards the exit.

"I am feeling tired though. Night Cas."

Castiel can barely utter the words before Dean is out of sight. He looks at the place Dean was standing only moments before, until he feels the tired feeling from before washing over him again. He takes a seat in a chair by the table, and can only question what the cause was for Dean's behavior.

_'Was it… me?_'

* * *

Dean makes it to his room, shuts the door, and leans against the cool wood.

'**You know, maybe I made the wrong choice in apprentices.**'

The mark is back to its searing pain that it was before. Dean's hand finds its place again over the red skin.

'_Can you just LEAVE ME ALONE!_'

'**Not until you decide to stop making the same mistakes you always do Dean. Don't you realize that you act the same way, every time for the same situation, and it always leads to the same result. How do you think they will feel if they found out you were lying AGAIN! They would have a harder time accepting that than this-**'

Dean can no longer listen to whatever Cain is saying, as most of his energy is being spent trying to stay upright. The pain he felt earlier is nowhere near as uncomfortable as it is now. But what can he do to make it stop? Actually listen to Cain's advice? Or…

The pill bottle.

Only now does Dean remember the capsule enclosed in his right hand. He unfurls his fist and stares at what could be his only salvation in the living hell he has chosen for himself once again. With every scrap of power he has left, he untwists the cap and downs at least three or four pills. He didn't count.

And just like that, the pain soothes. The voice in his head sounding farther and farther away. He can finally unlock his hand from the death-grip it has on his hand. The Mark still looks red, but he can't feel the pain anymore. He can't feel the pain!

And he can't hear the _pain_ anymore, either.

He looks back down at the bottle once more and thinks:

'_This might just work out fine after all…_'

And if he decides to have another pill, no one is around to judge him…

Or maybe it was two…

* * *

'_Dean…Dean!_'

"Blast."

Cain sits in his chair, eyes open, as he has suddenly lost the signal to Dean's mind. It's like it's been snuffed out. Which is _not_ good, because anything could happen and Dean wouldn't even be able to hear his advice.

Not like he would listen to it anyway…

There's only one solution to this problem. So, he grabs his jacket, picks up his car keys, and moves to leave his house.

'_How far is Lebanon, anyhow?_'

**Howdy folks! Did you enjoy the story? I really hope you did, because I was trying my best! Unfortunately I was cursed with writer's block for most of the week, so that is why my story is coming to you so late. But do not fear, I am going to start working on the next chapter as soon as possible. **

**So… until then… live long and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Greetings all you readers out there (unless you can't read but still enjoy looking at the funny scribbles, hello to you too, but why?) I finished this chapter WAY ahead of schedule because my school decided to close…**

**While I was halfway there.**

**So…yeah… that happened.**

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter and for all those lawyers out there, I own nothing except the plot and my hopes and dreams (yet I'm still paying those off). **

**Read on!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 5

"I don't like this."

A man stands behind the counter of the worn bar top, a glass currently held in his hand being wiped clean while he glares hardly at the short man on the other side. The man behind the bar is tall, with brown eyes, sandy brown hair, a strong jaw, and his whole body radiating irritation. The grey t-shirt he wears stretches tight across his sinewy skin, and a persistent thrum rings from his boots tapping against the linoleum floor.

"It doesn't matter if you like it or not, but as of now… we need this to work."

The smaller man, obviously calling the shots, drinks from the shot he had been nursing before and finishes it in one go. He looks frail, but under all that weak muscle is great power. His curly black hair shoots from his scalp to match the grayish beard on his face. His eyes are a cold blue, calculating, untrusting. What he lacks in height he makes up for in intimidation.

"But Metatron, I just think-"

The taller man is silenced by the smaller, one hand up while the other holds the empty glass, inspecting the object with great scrutiny.

"I didn't recruit you to _think_, Gadreel," Metatron blandly states, "I recruited you for muscle. Sometime people don't believe that _I _can destroy them with a single thought."

The outstretched hand becomes a pointed finger.

"And that is where you come in my friend."

The glass starts to strain in Gadreel's palm, so much that little cracks start to spider-web from where his fingers rest. He has to put the cup down before he does any more damage to Ezekiel's possesions.

_Ezekiel_.

When he first fell, he thought it was just a new punishment to his eternal Hell in Heaven. However, once he saw all the other tendrils of grace of his former brothers and sisters. That is when he realized he was freed. That Gadreel the disgraced has been given another chance. He quickly searched for a vessel, and took on the guise of a bartender in his early thirties. His name:

Ezekiel.

Really, he was thankful that his vessel's name was that of another angel. Made it easier on his conscious when lying.

Although, after all the murders he has committed, what should a conscious mean to him now?

What draws him out of his thoughts is the incessant snapping by the angel in front of him.

"Hello? Heaven to Gadreel? Are you in there?"

The hand without the rag takes the tiny fingers and pushes them out of the way.

"Yes, Metatron. I was just… thinking, is all."

"Again with the thinking! If you do any more of that you might think you have free will!"

The scowl finds its way back onto Gadreel's face. His hands start to worry the rag.

"Sometimes I wonder _why_ I work with you…"

"Because I'm your last chance."

The look Metatron sends Gadreel sobers him up instantly, and soon the rag is being used to dust the counter. Gadreel is the first to look away, staring at the smooth wood, as he submits to Metatron.

"So can you explain to me why we are involving ourselves with these… _filth_?"

"I could… if you asked in a nicer, more polite manner…"

The small man side-eyes the bartender, and the insufferable look Gadreel shoots him is brushed off.

"Please can you inform me of you wondrous plans, X?" Gadreel forces out through gritted teeth.

"Now that was what I was looking for!"

Metatron spins back to face the bar completely before he begins his spiel.

"As you know, I was approached by Abbadon and her… _associates_… to initiate a partnership of sorts. Since the only ally I have going for me right now is, well, you, I had to take her up on her offer. It's not like I'm popular with the angels as of late… and Heaven hasn't always had a winning streak when it comes to the _Winchesters_, so I needed this as much as they needed me. When there is a union of Heaven and Hell, there is no telling what to expect."

On paper, this plan seemed very smart and well thought out. But Gadreel couldn't help but feel that this was wrong. It didn't sit right in his grace, like it was betraying God even more than he already did.

'_But God is gone. He has abandoned not just you, but the entire world. Why does it matter if this would go against His wishes?_'

Still, Gadreel just could not shake the wrong in his heart, so he decides to distract himself with other things.

Like pestering Metatron with more questions.

"And are you sure that this Abbadon is a trustworthy character?"

"Oh Heaven no!" Metatron admits, "I trust her as much as I have a chance with her, and that isn't much with this body. But… she serves a purpose. And if she is no longer needed, I will toss her to the side like trash. I did the same to Castiel, and I can do the same to her."

_Castiel_.

The name strikes chords within Gadreel he thought he had long since forgotten. Yet the wounds never healed. The memories never faded. His heart never stopped yearning.

And seeing him with the elder Winchester did nothing to soothe his feelings.

Yet more important things were also forming in the angel's mind. Something that put Castiel on the back-burner, to be touched upon later.

'_If Metatron treats his other associates like this… what will happen when I am no longer needed?_'

As if he could read his mind, Metatron took his hand and laid it over one of Gadreel's.

"Do not fear, Gadreel. Unlike you, they are replaceable. You are someone who I need for Heaven's renewal. You and I can lead our celestial birthplace through its Renaissance!"

The words seem trusting, and the smile somewhat believable…

However Gadreel could not find it in him to trust or believe the imp's rambling.

He accepts, begrudgingly, so he has more time to ponder without the constant eye of Metatron over his shoulder.

Their business finished, Metatron hops off the barstool.

"As much as this conversation intellectually titillated me, Gadreel, I must take my leave. There are certain things in Heaven I must see too."

And with a gust of wind, the older vessel and the angel controlling it are gone. Leaving Gadreel alone in the bar with nothing but the liquor on the shelves to keep him company. He moves from behind the counter and towards one of the booths, his human body seemingly tired. His back slouches as the full weight of the deal with the demon crashes over him. And now, not only can he _not _trust Abbadon…

He can't trust Metatron now, too.

And finally, the thing that has bothering him ever since he laid eyes on him again resurfaces.

Even after all these years, after all the torment and pain, Castiel still has this unflappable ability to hope and believe.

Good to know his cynicism did not rub off on him.

The dam holding all previous memories of Castiel seems to burst, and they overflow his mind. All he can do is succumb to the tides and float in the pool of emotions he once buried deep within his subconscious.

And thinks about something that… could have been.

* * *

"Are you sure this is safe?"

Dean's mind may be cloudy, and his eyes may be half-lidded, yet he still has enough of his senses to make sure his Sammy is safe.

'_hehe… Sammy…_'

"Yes, Dean, this is very safe."

Castiel snaps, his mind still on overdrive from last night. The rigidity of Castiel's spine and his harsh attitude is the polar opposite of Dean's relaxed nature and fluid movements.

Each person in the room had a hard time waking up.

Dean felt a twinge of pain, so he dry swallowed around 3 pills.

Sam was nervous about the day's events, and struggled over whether to get up or not.

Castiel never left the kitchen. He tiredly stayed up, replaying Dean's strange behavior in his mind to try and identify where he went wrong with the man he saved.

It was clear to everyone the tension in the room, so thankfully Sam decides to break the awkwardness with a slight cough.

"Well then," Sam slowly drawls, "we might as well get this over with."

Sam is back on the chair that oddly resembles one you find in the dentist's office, with Castiel on his right and Dean on his left. In Castiel's hands are a bowl filled with a mixture of ingredients. And in Dean's hands, an open book.

"So… what are we doin' again?"

Castiel huffs angrily as he has to explain the process to Dean… _again_.

"_I _am preparing a spell which will allow Sam to fully immerse himself into Gadreel's grace. From there, he can see what Gadreel is doing, hear what he is thinking, and still be able to relay all this information to us. _You_, on the other hand, are just holding the book for me."

"Oh," Dean huffs, "I can do that."

Sam smirks at the crease forming on Castiel's forhead, that seems to speak "Really? Are you serious right now?"

But the moment of ease is gone when Castiel announces the spell to be complete.

The words start to flow from his mouth before Sam has a chance to relax. Unlike the last time they performed a spell, this time the concoction glows a bright blue before becoming a swirling mist. Dean can only stare with glazed eyes at the beautiful swirl of color as it begins to drift from the bowl and towards Sam. Soon the spell enters Sam's body through his nostrils, and it begins to take effect. He starts to convulse for a second, and Dean would normally react if his limbs didn't feel heavy and slow. Yet that is over quickly and soon Sam's hazel eyes disappear and are replaced with a bright blue glow. No iris. No pupil. Just a glow.

"What do you see, Sam?" Castiel asks, snapping Dean from his amazed stupor. He closes his mouth and tosses the book to a table with little to no care if it ends up there or not. Dean turns back to his brother and angel and joins Castiel on his other side.

"I see… everything. I can see the beginning of the universe… the creation of man… all of history is happening right before my eyes!"

"Focus Sam, don't get lost in the grace. We need you to focus. Find _Gadreel's_ grace."

The calm words held an urgent undertone, and soon Sam began to sift through the souls of angels to find the one they wanted.

While Sam focused harder, Dean began to lose his.

'_This is boring._'

His eyes shift towards the trench coat wearing angel beside him, and how he looks like he would rather be anywhere but next to Dean. Well, Dean doesn't like that. So while little Sammy is busy, Dean decides to act. He puts his hand on Cas's shoulder, and like last night the recipient of contact flinched. Only this time the flincher was Castiel.

"Startled ya'?"

"No," Castiel responds harshly, turning his head back to Sam, "just not used to touch. Like _someone_ I know…"

"Who?"

Dean is genuinely confused as Castiel turns back to analyze the hunter. His cold mask slips into confusion as he starts to explain.

"Last night… don't you remember what happened after Sam left?"

Dean can vaguely recall getting up in the middle of the night, but most of his memory is blurry. He can't seem to remember anything of what Cas is talking about. If only he could care that he couldn't remember.

"No. I don't even remember talking to Sammy," Dean admits truthfully, a huge smile plastered on his tan face.

This takes Castiel by surprise, his blue eyes shining bluer in curiosity. He would question Dean further about his fleeting memory, if only Sam did not decide to announce that he has located Gadreel's grace.

'_Right, Gadreel. Focus, Castiel, you can't be distracted like last time._'

Dean and Castiel lean in closer as Sam begins to describe the surroundings of the angel of original sin.

"He's… sitting in a bar. A nice bar, from what I can tell. And, he's just… sitting there."

"Yeah, yeah, sitting, blah blah blah," Dean says while motioning with his hand, "anything else? Something more… interesting?"

"Try and see what he is _thinking_ about Sam," Castiel pipes in after.

"Okay, let me try."

It only takes a small amount of time before Sam actually breaks through the barriers of Gadreel's mind. And, does Sam wish he never did that.

"I did it! I can see what he's thinking about! And it's…" Sam voice falters. "My God…"

"What Sammy, what is it?" Dean asks like a puppy, finally finding something juicy to hold his attention for more than three seconds.

"He's thinking about Cas!"

This throws Dean for a loop, and he is pushed back with surprise, varying emotions swirling in his mind. At the forefront: jealousy, anger, and betrayal.

As for the angel in question, his face becomes even paler and his eyes bug out of his head. Seemingly picking up the habit from his favorite hunter, a constant loop plays through his mind of:

'_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._'

"And in these thoughts… no, memories… you… and him… you…"

Sam breaks the connection soon after that, too shocked and unfocused to stay. He jumps from his laid down position, and suddenly the room starts to spin.

'_This must have taken more out of me than I thought._'

Sam's dizzy spell only seems to get worse, and he has little to no time to grab onto a solid surface before he's falling towards the ground.

Usually Dean would be there to catch him if he wasn't lost in the confusing maze his mind has become.

And Castiel would have been there if not for the fact he was trying to leave the room in a subtle way.

However, both men snap out of their self-imposed trances once Sam hits his knees.

"Sammy!"

"Sam!"

Each fly to the fallen man and lift him by the arms towards the chair again, laying him back down.

"I thought you said this was okay! That nothing was going to happen!"

"It was. It is! If only Sam broke the connection the right way instead of being forced out."

"Right, and I wonder why that was, again."

The fog that Dean's mind had been clouded in for most of the day starts to clear as the situation starts getting more serious.

Castiel sheepishly looks away as Dean's green eyes bore into the side of his face.

"Because of mine and Gadreel's past relationship…"

"I'm sorry," Dean mocks, one hand over his ear, "I couldn't hear you."

Castiel's head snaps towards Dean.

"Because of the bond that used to exist between me and Gadreel!"

Castiel yells this information out, scared of what the elder Winchester would think yet still angry at him as well.

But all you need to do is look in the man's emerald eyes to see all the pain and sadness that the angel's words caused.

Before Castiel has a chance to explain himself, Dean is already moving towards the exit.

"Make sure Sammy is okay, then you and him meet me in the study in ten minutes. I need- I need time to think."

And so the hunter leaves the angel alone with his unconscious brother, wallowing in the self-pity and hurt that has been building for over a millennia, and only now can feel because of a certain Dean Winchester bringing everything back into light, and leaving him to process everything by himself. It wouldn't even matter… if only the man he had given everything up for would have stayed by his side to let him explain instead of running off. Again.

'_You keep screwing everything up, Castiel!_'

Tears pool in his eyes, and once the first drop falls from his cheek the rest overflows his face.

'_Why does this keep happening? Why? Why? WHY!?'_

All Castiel can do is sink towards the ground, joining the growing puddle of tears, as he berates himself for the next screw-up in his never-ending list of failures.

* * *

'_He… him and Gadreel… they were…'_

Dean can't handle the over-whelming sense of betrayal over the information that Cas had a… a… _fling_ with… _him._

It's irrational, it's petty, it's stupid… yet he can't shake how he feels.

And now… he has to hear about… _it_.

As he reaches his room, the only thing going through his mind is:

'_I ain't going through this sober!_'

He spends the next ten minutes searching for the bottle of pills he _knows_ he has lying around in his room.

**Howdy folks! I hope you enjoy this chapter as I did writing it! I'm going to keep this short: Have a nice everything and remember, every time I get a review, an angel gets its full grace back!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everybody! I think this chapter is now the new longest, and one of my favorites to write. This is emotional and is one of the few backstory chapters that will be in the story. We are going to get a little peek into Heaven in the olden days! Just so you know, I imagine angels to just be clouds of grace, nothing more nothing less. Wings are just the outpouring of grace from their vessels if anyone would wonder after reading that first sentence: "But where are their wings!"**

**I hope you really enjoy the chapter and Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Read on!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 6

Angels were not born ready to kill demons and do God's work. Like all living things, they grow into their roles. The oldest do their duties, but also instruct their young to follow in their footsteps, so that when one falls there will be another to take their position.

This story takes place with the newest group in all of Heaven, the most recent group of angels to be created by God. And also the last. This group was his final deed, a good-bye present before he goes away on a little trip. Over ten thousand angels were made under the watchful eyes of God, Michael, and Metatron. Each one crafted for their roles and duties. However, the last one was hand-made, with only God as a witness. The grace he crafted was small, yet still very powerful. It was the purest blue that any angel had ever seen.

God held the tendril of grace in his outstretched palms and said unto both Metatron and Michael:

"This is my final angel. He shall be the Angel of New Changes… of Travel… and of _Thursdays_. His name… _Castiel._" God then bestowed the newborn angel into the watchful care of Michael. "He is very special, and will accomplish many great things, so sayeth Me."

And with that… God was gone. He disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the two angels and the fledgling floating in awe.

Over the years, the little fledgling began to grow, and while many angels started to lose faith that God was never returning, Castiel would always respond with: "He will return when He is needed."

It was safe to say that Castiel was not the most popular angel in the garrison.

Being the last of the angels, crafted by God Himself, did not make other angels flock to him. Instead, jealous beings of pure grace shunned the innocent fledgling. Castiel was left all alone, to learn, and to question. As the other angels matured and began to stir for their turn to confront the evils of Lucifer and his horde, Castiel held fast to his innocence. He was the littlest of angels for the longest of times.

It was unhealthy, and soon someone would come to talk to him.

It was his big brother, Gabriel, that decided to take action.

The golden hued grace approached the tiny ball of pure blue, cautiously sending out waves of calm and comfort so as not to startle the younger angel.

"Castiel," Gabriel stated, "I need to discuss something with you."

"What is it Gabriel?" Castiel questioned, voice brimming with curiousity, and the tiniest amount of fear. Other angels only talked to him when it was out of sheer necessity.

Gabriel cut right to the chase, and as gold intermingled with blue, Castiel learned of the worry of the elder angels. How Michael was getting tired of Castiel's insistence of God's resurgence. Raphael's pity over the angel's situation. That there are talks of… _fixing_ him. _Changing_ him… make him into the angel that he _should _ be. Because the angel he is right now is too dangerous. Uriel says he could be the next angel to fall. That rules never mattered to those who were… _curious._

Castiel's grace tore away from Gabriel's as the tendril of purest blue ripped through Heaven and away from all the terror it had just witnessed.

'_They cannot actually be thinking that?_' Castiel thought, '_God created me as I am. They have no right to change His work!_'

Castiel flies so fast he doesn't realize where he ended up, and when he stops he realizes that he has flown farther than he has ever gone before, usually staying in sight of the other angels.

'_Probably because they thought I was too dangerous…_' Castiel sadly thinks.

He decides to investigate, as his _incurable_ curiosity gets the better of him.

It's an abandoned section of Heaven. And it seems there are no angels in sight. However there is a cube built of… darkness. The walls were a pitch black, that it seemed endless in such a small space. Obviously it was built to contain something that the likes of Heaven feared. But to Castiel, fear was the farthest thing from his mind as different possibilities of what could be behind the fortress.

"You know, I could just tell you if you want?"

"Who said that?"

The tendril of grace that was Castiel spread out, searching the surrounding area for the voice that seemed to come from nowhere.

"In here."

Castiel finally checks the fortress, and senses the grace of another angel inside. He sees a small opening, and decides to investigate. So he plucks up all of his courage and squeezes through the tiny hole. Inside, the glowing light of another's grace is the only thing to light the dungeon. Castiel is mystified by the swirling cloud of beautiful colors, so lost in the rainbow of hues that he is startled out of his thoughts by a small chuckle.

"Do you do that with all the angels or am I just special?"

If Castiel had cheeks, they would be glowing red. But the best he could muster is the glow of his grace dimming. He did not know how to respond to this… _mystery_ of an angel.

"Who are you?"

"I would tell you… but then I would have to kill you."

The innocent Castiel took these words for the actual thing, instead of the sarcastic reply they were meant to be, and starts to back away from the beautiful grace.

"Calm down, fledgling, I was only kidding."

This does not fully calm the blue ball of grace, but he slowly gets closer.

"So answer the question… who are you?"

The rainbow-hued grace sighs before answering:

"Gadreel."

The rainbow angel was just waiting for the other to fly off in disgust, so when he noticed that the pure blue grace of Castiel still present, he was definitely shocked.

"So why are you locked up here?"

Gadreel was stupefied. How could a perfectly fit angel _not_ know who he was? He was assured by Dina, the angel of learning, that his name would forever go down in infamy. So as to teach other angels of the downfall of disobedience, striking the fear of God… no, Michael… into them.

"You mean you have not heard of me? Have you not been instructed in the practices of an angel?"

To be a fully-fledged angel, you have to study and learn to complete certain tasks and tests so you can be ready to go on the field. Classes like Blade Wielding, Understanding and Using your Grace, and the class he was known for: Learning from History.

"I have… but it's not like I pay attention. I mean, I want to go down to Earth and help but… I'd rather just learn about humans. I don't see the importance of using a weapon or destroying demons. I want to learn from God's greatest creations!"

The sincerity that was laced within Castiel's words brought a sense of joy into Gadreel's grace that had been missing for over a millennia.

"No wonder you haven't heard of me…"

Castiel soon left his musings, and turned back to the angel in question.

"Is that why you are in here? You didn't pay attention in class? Oh my Father, will I end up in here?"

Near the end of his inquisition, Castiel started to get emotional and irrational. Gadreel did not know what to do… so he reached out with his grace to the other angel and did his best at comfort. Castiel, who was not used to interaction, surprisingly fell into the touch comfortingly, as it felt right and safe for the fledgling. He started to calm down just as Gadreel began speaking again.

"No, young one., what I did was much worse. I am Gadreel: the serpent in the Garden. I was the one who unwittingly turned my head as Eve took of the apple and bit into it. It was only as I turned back did I notice the glint of knowledge in her eye, and by then… it was too late. I tried to warn Adam… but Eve found him first. And… the rest is history. I am Gadreel, and I am the creator of original sin."

Throughout this explanation, Gadreel spiraled deeper into self-loathing. The memories he had been able to repress resurface while explaining to the innocent angel.

Castiel noticed how Gadreel's grace got darker and darker, and decided to return the favor. Instead of cautiously mixing his grace with the other, he threw his in full force and radiated pure comfort. The power and its intestity shocked Gadreel out of disgusting thoughts, and he was left swirling as Castiel started to separate himself from the older grace.

"Was… was that not good?"

The sadness in Castiel's voice brought Gadreel back into reality.

"No, no… it's just that… that was the first time someone touched me that wasn't out of… hatred."

These words hit Castiel with the strength it carried, and before he noticed Castiel was already making a promise to help this sad grace.

"Why would they hate you? God creates what he intends… so if you created original sin it is obvious that you were created for that sole purpose."

Gadreel could feel the waves of honesty flowing through Castiel's grace and into his, and even he started to believe the words spoken by the youngest of all angels.

Castiel did not stop. "Also, I believe humanity would never have evolved to the point it is at without you. Yes, it would have been nice to live in the Garden forever. It would have made every angel's burden easier to bear. But the daily struggles each human has to face day in and day out makes the whole process seem… like it is worth something."

Castiel's grace kept expanding, until not a corner was left untouched by the angel's light. Gadreel could only look on in awe as this little fledgling displayed the power that was very close to that of an arch-angel. With training, he could become the strongest of all the angels, even stronger than Michael the de-facto leader of Heaven.

"I… would like to believe that, too…" Gadreel left the sentence hanging, just realizing that he never asked the little angel what his name was.

Catching on, Castiel tells him his name.

"Castiel."

Gadreel's grace slowly touches Castiel's again, and cradles it softly.

"I think this is the beginning of something beautiful, Castiel."

Castiel, totally in awe of the older angel and having forgotten what he learned from Gabriel, accepted the grace of Gadreel with unbounded happiness.

"I think so too, Gadreel."

* * *

The visits to Gadreel's jail grew in frequency. Whenever the watchful eye of an angel dulled, Castiel would slip from his captors and slither his way to the abandoned portion of Heaven. From there, Castiel and Gadreel would spend their time together, whether talking, relaxing, or just being with eachother. It was pure. It was simple. It was innocent.

Some of the angels noticed the usually silent and sullen Castiel has faded and in his place a vibrant, radiant Castiel with an ethereal glow that made others admire and envy the blue that only Castiel could call his own.

They just chalked it up to something weird, which has become synonymous with Castiel. Yet two angels were not satisfied with simply sitting on the sidelines, ignorant to the change within the youngest fledgling.

Balthazar and Gabriel knew something was up. The way Castiel would disappear for hours at a time. How he would come back shining brighter than ever. And the most obvious sign that something was happening:

He was maturing.

His young glow being replaced with an even brighter, more powerful essence. His grace finally climbing to its peak in powers… and judging from the displays he has given so far, is much greater than anyone would have suspected. It is slow… but not unnoticeable.

So one day, they decide to take action. Having reached the peak of their powers earlier on, they have mastered all the abilities that angels were bred to do. They disguised their grace, and followed young Castiel as he wisped himself across the puffy clouds towards the towering, dark prison.

"No…" Balthazar breathed out, "Castiel wouldn't..." But his worse thoughts were confirmed as the tendrils of grace making up Castiel were swept into the dungeon.

"What do we do Gabriel? If Michael or the others found out… what they were originally planning to do would be like child's play!"

Gabriel, the usually outspoken and rebellious angel, has now become quiet and reserved. The decision in front of him was a very hard one to make. Now many people would think that Gabriel, with how he acts, takes nothing seriously. Yet when it comes to those he cares about, all the funny business gets thrown out the window and he gets down to business.

"Gabriel!"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!"

Gabriel's mind is racing like a ticking time bomb, and the only conclusion that he can come to is one that will break his little brother's heart… but must be done.

"Alright, so here's what we do…"

* * *

As the final traces of Castiel's grace finally leaves Gadreel's prison, the archangel and the regular angel put their plan into action. They take the same route into Gadreel's hideaway as Castiel did, and find the floating mass of grace resting in a small corner. It starts to glow as it notices the newcomers.

"Castiel? Back so so-"

He cuts himself off when he notices it is his brothers Gabriel and Balthazar, and not the angel who has brought such light into his life as of late.

"Sorry, sweetheart, we aren't Castiel," Gabriel replies in his snarky tone.

"However, that is what we are here to talk about…" Balthazar finishes.

"If you wish to talk about Castiel then you should do so with him," Gadreel seethes out, fearful over what the two want. They must know about their connection, because why else would they be here. No one visited him until Castiel. He hasn't done or had a lot of things since Castiel came into his life.

"Yeah, thing is this is about Castiel… _and_ you," Gabriel implies, confirming the worst in Gadreel's mind.

Before Gabriel and Balthazar could even express the nature of their desires, Gadreel interrupts:

"What Castiel and I share is special! So if you even think about doing anything to him I will do whatever it is in my power to protect him. Do you want to know why? Because I love him! He is all that matters to me now. I love him! I _love_ Castiel!"

The little tirade stunned all three angels, as soon Gadreel retreated into his own thoughts.

'_I love Castiel…?_'

He turns this little idea in his mind for a few seconds before he glows with acceptance. He _does_ love Castiel, and he would do anything for him.

"Listen Gadreel, we don't want to stop you from seeing Castiel…" Gabriel starts. This puts Gadreel at ease. Yet the next words that Gabriel utters send the rainbow grace into a shock, rocking him to his very core.

"We want _you_ to stop Castiel from seeing you."

Seeing how Gadreel has been left reeling from the blow Gabriel just delivered, he powers on.

"Balthazar and I have both seen how wonderful Castiel has become after meeting you. He's happier… he's brighter… he's come out of his shell. And… and he's finally becoming the great angel he's supposed to be. But… there are others who would not take kindly to Castiel as a fully-fledged angel. You know as well as I do that he possesses great power, greater than most of the angels in Heaven. If Michael or Raphael finds out that he has been seeing you… that would be the final straw. Great power and curiosity like Castiel's are a dangerous thing, and Heaven still hasn't recovered from the blow Lucifer dealt all those years ago. If you truly love Castiel like we think you do… like we know you do… can you cast him away? To keep him safe?"

The reflective Gadreel mulls the speech over in his mind, taking the words Gabriel spoke as truth, and lets them swirl in his grace. Obviously Gabriel cared greatly for Castiel; otherwise he would have turned him in instead of trying to save him. But… can _he_ cast out Castiel from his life. Refuse the only salvation God has offered him in his torturous existence? Extinguish the light that has returned to his life?

But… then he imagines what would happen to Castiel if he ever _were _caught and…

He knows what he must do.

"Alright…" Gadreel relents, "next time he visits… will be the _last_ time he visits."

"I'm sorry it had to end this way Gadreel," Gabriel admits, "but if Heaven was still under our Father's influence, things would be different."

"I understand, but I must go through with this. Thank you for keeping Castiel in your hearts, and please do so when I am no longer."

"We will," Balthazar interjects, "that blue beauty is too adorably innocent to turn away."

This puts what would probably be the final burst of happiness in Gadreel's grace, and soon the other two angels leave the exiled one to his darkness.

However, as the angels are leaving, they forgot to check the area for any other graces. If they did… they would have discovered a third guest to their little stakeout.

One who is not as kind to the littlest fledgling in the garrison.

* * *

Castiel is excited for today. He's been mulling this over for a while now, and he has had enough. He knows what he wants, and he's decided to take it. Today would be the day that Gadreel and him would bond. Today would be the day he confesses his love to the Serpent of Eden. His grace sparks with life, as blue electricity courses throughout the cloud that is his grace. He speeds away from the other angels and makes his way back towards the dungeon that oddly… feels like home. His mind races as the route is so rote it takes no conscious effort.

Yet as he approaches Gadreel's prison, he notices something is… off with the entire structure. It seems darker, gloomier, sadder. Like it is an omen that something bad is coming.

Castiel takes no heed of this warning, and continues onwards into his partner's den. When he enters the room, Gadreel is curled in on himself, the rainbow colors of his grace seemingly dimmed.

"Gadreel!" Castiel chirps, hoping to bring him out of his funk, journeys over to the depressed angel. When he sends out a tendril of his grace, the other jumps away, clear to the other side of the room.

"Gadreel, what is wrong?"

Now Castiel is worried. In all the time he and Gadreel have been in each other's company, not once has he flinched from his touch. It hurt, and he needs to know why he would flinch away.

'_Was it something I did?_'

Gadreel, however, reflects the storm cloud that is his mind in his grace, which is dark and scary. Castiel edges away, not sure of what to come.

"What is wrong Castiel? I'll tell you what is wrong… _this_ is wrong."

If they had hearts, Castiel's would definitely be shattered. You could already sense the dread coming from the young one, and as his mood worsened, his blue grace dimmed until it was unrecognizeable.

"I-I-I thought you _liked_ this? Liked _us_? Liked… _loved_ me?"

"_Love_? Do you think a creature as evil as I am can show love?" Gadreel scoffs. "You were just easy pickings Castiel. Available. Something I could have fun with for a little while. But the show's over. You've served your usefulness. I don't need you anymore, so get! Go! Don't come back!"

If Castiel was really paying attention, he could have heard the insincerity in Gadreel's voice. The sheer amount of self-loathing over the words he has to say is worse than the punishment he has had to endure for bringing man to its downfall.

As for Castiel, his sadness ebbed away and was replaced with anger. How dare this… this… _snake_ use him like that! He gave his everything, he even gave his grace to this angel. He risked so much for the love he felt for the other angel.

"You abomination!" Castiel shouts, surprising even himself at the intensity, "I love you! I loved you! And you are willing to throw this all away because this never meant _anything_ to you? Well… then I'll…" he gets quieter, "I'll leave, and never come back. But I hope you spend every waking minute of your life regretting what you did today!"

And with that Castiel takes his leave, Gadreel's grace dimming more and more with each passing second. After Castiel has finally left the dungeon, Gadreel quietly admits:

"I will."

* * *

And with that his grace becomes pure black sadness, shadowing him in the darkness he feels he deserves.

As Castiel leaves the man who broke his trust behind, his grace grows brighter. The innocence that was once uniquely Castiel's has been tainted, and can never be recovered. And with this loss of innocence comes the final signs of Castiel's transformation. He entered the dungeon young and lost, but exited the prison mature and powerful.

If only he had the chance to master that power before he was met with other angels. It was Michael, Metatron, Raphael, Uriel, and a few seraphs. Some were holding back Balthazar and Gabriel, while others were advancing towards him.

"No… No… NO!"

Castiel tried to escape, yet he was caged in on all sides. He would fight, but the energy for that was drained from him while in that black hole belonging to Gadreel. He accepted his fate, and allowed the seraphs to enclose upon his grace. Metatron approached.

"Poor, little Castiel. Too curious for your own good. I knew something like this would happen someday, and I am happy that I am right."

Michael then piped up, "Because of this final transgression Castiel, we have no other choice but to recondition you. You will then become part of Uriel's garrison, where he will keep watchful eye over you for the rest of your existence, until you fall in battle."

And with that, Castiel was carried away by the seraphs led by Uriel, while Gabriel screamed for his little brother. He hoped this wouldn't happen. He _prayed_ this wouldn't happen. Yet his worse fears have been confirmed and now the brightest of angels is being dimmed.

"You _monsters_!" he growls, "do you have any idea what you are doing? Castiel was the best of all of us! And now he's going to become some sheep waiting for the slaughter! God had plans for Castiel! Do you want to go against God!"

Michael just approaches Gabriel and calmly mutters:

"God is dead Gabriel. Respect your new master. Follow the new plan."

And as Michael starts to move away again, Gabriel plucks up the last of his courage:

"No."

Michael stops, "No?"

"No, Michael. You've all lost something, and Heaven is now broken. Too broke to work. And I… I can't stand it anymore! This is the last you are _ever_ seeing of me. And if we cross paths again… you won't like it."

And with that, Gabriel dissipates out of the seraph's hold, journeying towards Earth where he would live out the rest of his immortality.

So Castiel was re-trained to become a dutiful servant of Heaven. His curiosity was drained, only following orders and not questioning his superiors. His once regal blue grace dulled considerably until it was comparable to any other angel's. He finally fit in. He was accepted. Yet… he still wasn't happy. He didn't know why, but something was missing. He would spend most of his time wondering what he could do to fill this empty void. However he didn't have much time alone, as Uriel would be on his tail with new orders for his garrison. The most recent being a journey into Hell to find a lost soul. Special and new, something no angel has done before. But he doesn't know why he's going… it's not like he'll be the one to find the soul. To find… "The Righteous Man".

* * *

When Castiel and Sam made it to the room, Dean was already there, staring blankly into space with a small smile. That soon faded as the two entered the room. Castiel sat across from Dean, while Sam sat next to the angel in the hot seat.

And soon Castiel began to weave his web, telling a boiled down version of the events that happened in Heaven, for even he did not know the entire story. He told of his lonliness, of meeting Gadreel, and of the betrayal Gadreel caused that shattered Castiel's fragile, trusting heart.

Sam felt bad for the angel. He was young and didn't know what was wrong or right. Of course he would fall for the first person to offer him any attention.

Dean felt jealous. He thought only he brought that much joy to Castiel. He can't believe that Gadreel tainted his angel before he had a chance. If the drugs weren't in his system, Dean would be throwing the biggest fit that either of them had ever seen. But soon he began to stare at Castiel, and noticed how sad he looked.

Without thinking, the elder hunter shuffled his way to the angel and collapsed on the other side, and gave him a hug.

'_Hugs help,'_ was what rang through his foggy mind.

Castiel was stunned by how Dean reacted to the story. And soon the pressure on his right side was joined by some on his left, as Sam too joined in on the hug. The angel relaxed into the touch as he allowed the feelings he had been smothering for the longest of times finally wash over him and… for the first time in a long time…

He cried for his innocence.

**Great chapter right? If I made you guys upset I am sorry, but don't be afraid to tell me in a review! I love reviews more than Castiel loves his pimp-mobile.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello there my lovely readers! Here is the seventh chapter to my story. Sorry it took so long, I was trying hard to make this chapter really good, and then I caught writer's block, and well, long story short it took a while to get this out. I would like to thank SkyHighFan for pointing some things out for me, and I hope I fixed them all with the middle of this chapter!**

**Usual disclaimer, blah blah owning nothing blah blah not even my soul blah blah**

**And onto the story!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 7

Light snores were coming from Castiel's left side, and he turned his red-rimmed blue eyes towards the younger Winchester to find he was asleep. Tired from the day's events, most likely. And to his right he can see Dean's eyelids fluttering, on the cliff of consciousness ready to be knocked over. They've been in this position for around an hour, and Castiel is surprised they were able to last this long with him.

'_I should stop this_,' he thinks, '_I can't change the past with my tears. But… I can come to accept it._'

Castiel reluctantly breaks up the Winchester sandwich he found himself in, and while Dean has enough sense to wake himself up, Sam falls into the gap Castiel left.

"Something wrong, Cas?" Dean asks languidly, rubbing his eye with one hand and stretching his body, hearing the nice cracks of his bones from coming out of that position. There's a certain coldness about his body now that Castiel's body is gone from his side, but he decides to gloss over that to focus on his friend instead.

"No," Castiel responds with a weary smile, "I'm fine. For the first time in forever, I feel like this… weight, has been lifted from my shoulders."

Dean responds with his own tiny, tired smile, "Glad to hear. You know that no matter what that _dick _Gadreel did, you still have me and Sammy?"

Castiel's heart flutters at that. "Yes, I know I will still have you both. I think the hugging was very clear."

Dean's cheeks heat up at the mention of the hug, and all the repressed feelings start to slither their way from the depths of Dean's soul and right into his mind. He looks into Castiel's eyes and can see a range of things going on in the angel's mind.

'_Maybe I should just bite the bullet and tell him,_' Dean thinks, '_it seems like the perfect moment. And… I think he feels the same way so…'_

"Hey Cas-"

A loud snore interrupts Dean's confession, and both blue and green turn towards the large moose of a man sprawled disgustingly over the sofa.

"He must be really tired from the spell."

And just like that the illusion is shattered, and Dean shakes his head to clear his mind from the previous thoughts.

"He sure is."

'_What was I thinking? Of course he doesn't feel the same about me, we're just friends! As if he could even love someone as despicable as me… it must be the pills. Pills!'_

His mind races back towards his guiding light.

'_That's what I need right now… lift me out of my funk._'

Dean starts up from the couch, and shuffles his way to his room.

"Dean?"

Dean turns to Castiel, hooded eyes locking with curious, open ones.

"Yeah, Cas?" Dean asks with a big grin.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room… need to get something." He starts to scratch his arm again. Right where the mark is, under the bunched fabric his clenched fingers make.

"Okay…" Castiel says, moving towards Sam, "please hurry back."

Dean waits a beat to just stare at Castiel, concernedly leaning over his brother to make sure that Sam is okay, moving his head so he can still breathe. Pain starts to well up inside of him, but this time starting from his heart and not his mark. He finally forces himself to look away, and walk to his bedroom.

'_Castiel is too perfect to even consider having feelings for some broken little boy._'

He's halfway to his bedroom.

'_He's better off without me anyway. All I do is poison everything I touch._'

He's at the door now.

'_Frankly I'm just surprised he's still here. You'd think he would have left me behind already, knowing how dangerous I am._'

He's at the dresser drawer.

'_Because that's what everyone wants to do nowadays. Dad left, Bobby left, Charlie left, Sam tried to leave, Cas did too, but he decided to come back by his own choice.'_

One pill.

'_Why do you continue to fool yourself into thinking anyone even loves you._'

Three pills.

'_Even you don't love you._'

Two more pills.

…_Silence._

* * *

'_What was that?'_

Gadreel was pulled out of his musings by a strange twinge he felt in his grace. Like an unwanted presence, a strange force, yet oddly… _familiar_.

He tries to trace the intruder back, following the footsteps they left in the ether, but loses track quickly.

'_Damn.'_

Gadreel finds his center and then gets up from the booth, moving back towards the bar.

"I'm going to need something strong," he mutters, pulling out the bottle of Jack Ezekiel stored under the counter. He pulled the neck right up to his lips and drank straight from the bottle, no time for a glass.

"Hitting the whiskey at this time? Maybe you've still got a little of the Winchester still in you?"

Gadreel splutters as Metatron reappears in the bar.

"What are you doing back?"

"I wrapped up work a bit early and decided to booze before going back to the missus and, well, where can I go that lets me drink for free?"

His sarcasm wears thin on what little patience Gadreel has left, so he goes back to the bottle in his hands before he shatters it.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

The serpent's mind quickly flashes back to his weird feeling, but squashes that idea in an instant.

'_If he can keep his secrets, why can't I?_

"No, just had a little quiet time. Which is hard to come by with you hanging over my shoulder…"

"Now I resent that," Metatron starts, "but ultimately agree with."

"So what did you have to do in Heaven?"

"Just a little tidying up," Metatron says through the liquor, "taking stock of the artifacts and what not. Nothing special."

Gadreel would ask why he needs to look through the artifacts, but decides not to when he knows he wouldn't get an answer anyway.

"Really? All your power and you're left to do grunt work, eh, X?"

"Well, until I can make my own angels, I'll have to get my hands dirty."

The bottle pauses on its way to Gadreel's mouth as he takes in the new information. Even Metatron is surprised at himself, if his "deer in the headlights" look is anything to go by.

"Look at the time I must be going!"

Metatron is gone before Gadreel can even process the words he uttered before.

'_New angels?_'

Now this is something he definitely cannot handle sober.

"I wonder where he put the vodka?"

* * *

"Sam, Sam wake up," Castiel shakes the comatose hunter, hoping to move him into his bedroom instead of the uncomfortable couch.

"Wha- Cas? Wh-where's Dean?" Sam stirs, confusion etched clearly on his features.

"He'll be back soon, come on, we've got to get you to bed. You must be tired."

Sam pushes away the proffered hand, instead shaking his head, long locks spreading out, becoming more alert.

"No, no, I'm fine," Sam tries to convince, but a stray yawn escapes his lips at the end. His shifting eyes finally focus in on Castiel. "Actually, I have some questions for you."

"Go ahead, or as your brother would say," Castiel puts his hands up for air quotes, "'Shoot'."

"When you were telling your story, I thought you were captain of your garrison? Or was it Anna?"

"While I was captain of my garrison, for the short amount of time it was, I was still under orders from Uriel. I was kept on a very short leash. Even when Anna was captain, I still needed Uriel's permission before I could go on a mission. Sometimes I had to stay behind while others went ahead."

"Okay… it's starting to come together," Sam utters, understanding flashing across his features. "So, they 'reconditioned' you. Was this like what Naomi did?"

"No… what she did was much worse," he mutters, remembering the torture he was put through to force him to murder _his _Dean. "What they did was only drain me of my spirit and put a limit to my powers."

"What? How is that not worse than what Naomi did!?" Sam yelps, giving the angel a weird glance. A short withering look sent by the angel under fire clued Sam in as to _why_.

"Okay… so, you have a limit."

"_Had."_

"Had?" Sam inquires, to which Castiel nods. "So, what can you do now?"

"Next to nothing."

"But I thought you said you don't have a limit anymore?"

"I did not lie Sam," Castiel says, "but this is not my grace. This is the grace of a fallen brother I stole to survive. Since falling all angels have had their graces diminished… _tarnished_… so they cannot do all the wonders they once did. And since I am operating under someone else's grace, even I cannot do _that._ All I can do now is heal and smite."

"So what could you do _before_?"

"Even I do not know myself, Sam." Castiel now has a bemused expression on his face, remembering something in his past. "Some said I was as powerful as God himself, others more. But those are just rumors that no one should put their faith in."

"And you said they drained your spirit? Your will, basically. How'd you get it back."

This time, Castiel looks straight into Sam's eyes, a look of adoration in his eyes as he says: "When I first laid eyes on your brother's soul."

This piques Sam's interest ten-fold, and he's doubling over, motioning for Castiel to continue his story.

"I doubted that I would be able to even find "The Righteous Man", but orders were orders. Twenty different garrisons were sent down along with mine, and I think the only reason they sent me to Hell was so they could get rid of me without getting their hands dirty. When I got separated from the others in Hell, I thought I was done for. But then… then I saw this strange glowing. It was calling me, beckoning me towards it. I followed, and was greeted by the strangest of sights. This man, torturing a woman with only a corkscrew and a shoe, glowing this ethereal emerald. It was the most beautiful color I had ever seen. I thought, 'how can such a demon glow so bright'? I accidentally made a noise, and he turned his black eyes towards me. Forgetting the woman he advanced towards my location, sending out waves of green energy. They connected with my blue, and suddenly… I saw. Everything. His life. His dreams. You. It was then I realized who he was and, while he was stunned by the contact, I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. While ascending, from layer to layer, I could not concentrate on anything except this soul. How it re-sparked my curiosity. I wanted to learn everything there was about this man. So after he was raised, I tried to connect to him like we did in Hell, only then learning that doing this would cause him terrible harm. So, I went behind Uriel's back and searched for a vessel. And then… well… you know the rest, Sam."

Sam was so lost in Castiel's second story of the day, he was startled when Castiel laid a hand on him, concern leaking through his blue eyes. He couldn't even speak, too stunned by the amount of love he heard through his speech. Castiel was head over heels in _love_ with Dean.

'_If only my idiot of a brother would get his head out of his ass and fucking talk to him."_

Sam was going to continue, but then there was a crash coming from the other room. Both heads twirled towards the noise, and they rushed to the scene. And what a sight to behold.

Their on the ground, Dean was laughing his ass off while the glass table was shattered into pieces by the fallen bookshelf. Next to the forlorn hunter, the angel tablet laid near an outstretched hand.

"Dean," Sam yelled, "what the hell happened!"

Dean looked to the doorway, a faraway look to his eyes, "Sammy! Cassie! S-s-so glad you're here!"

He tries to stand, but his legs are too weak to even move of their own volition. He ends up in a bigger heap on the ground.

"Dean!" Cas yells this time, but it's more out of concern than of anger. He flies towards his hunter, helping him stand.

"Thanks, Cassie!" Dean flings his arm over the angel and gives him a big smooch on the cheek. Frozen in place, Castiel's cheeks flare up, and he drops Dean back on the ground.

"Cas!" Sam yells because, really, this situation has just gotten worse. He had a drunk brother, a socially awkward angel, and a mess to deal with. And _he's_ supposed to be recovering! He flies to the scene, and helps Dean to get back up again, for the third and hopefully last time. "Now can you please explain what the hell happened here, Dean?"

"Sure thing Sammy," Dean ruffles Sam's mane, and falls back on the chair Castiel was able to pull out for him after breaking from his kiss-induced trance. "I was making my way back from my room, when suddenly, I got lost! This house is so freaking huge, you can't believe it! It's like a maze…" Dean's eye starts to wander.

"Hey! Hey!" Sam's in Dean's face now, snapping fingers right next to Dean's eyes, "eyes on me. Come on focus! How much did you drink, anyway?"

"I'm one hundred percent sober, Sammy!" Dean insists, "Come on, smell my breath!" Dean doesn't wait for Sam to answer, instead leaning into Sam's personal space, opening his mouth as wide as he could and breathing a huge breath onto Sam's moosey nose.

'_Moosey… hehehe.'_

Sam's surprised that Dean's breath is not tinged with alcohol, and nearly misses the next thing Dean says.

"-so that's when I start laughing and I laughed my way into the bookcase. I think it fell after that, but I couldn't see through the tears. But the table also broke too… I think."

"Wait, wait, wait." Sam stops Dean from going off tangent again. Castiel is floored, having heard what Dean said first, and now Sam is _really_ curious about what Dean was talking about. "What made you laugh so hard?"

"Listen, listen, silly Sammy," Dean bops Sam on the nose with his finger. "I said that I saw the angel tablet lying around when Kevin was still here, where'd he go by the way, and that I picked it up and saw this really funny part where you have to mix three nephilim feathers with this… something something blah blah blah. I don't remember, but it was funny."

Dean moves onto something else though, however Sam is still processing the little nugget of information Dean decided to share with them.

'_Dean can read the tablet?_'

"Can you please repeat what you said Dean?"

"Oh, about how you should never pick up glass with your-"

"No, no, what you said earlier."

Dean is trying to concentrate, but his mind is a scattered mess. He thinks he knows what they are asking for. "Oh, when I asked where Kevin went! Yeah, where is the little guy, it's been quiet without him." Dean's moving his head left and right, trying to see if the little AP student would pop out of a hidden corner. Castiel lays his hand on Dean's shoulder and Dean's cloudy green eyes look into Castiel's sad blue ones.

"Dean… Kevin is dead. Remember?"

A beat of silence passes, before Dean exhales a soft "oh."

"Was it quick? That's how I'd want to go, quick and painless. Like the opposite of my life."

Only Dean laughs at the joke.

Sam is getting real tired of whatever shit Dean is trying to pull, so he grips the other shoulder hard and forces him to look into his hazel eyes.

"No, Dean, about reading the angel tablet."

Understanding flashes through Dean's eyes, "Oh yeah, that! But I mean, that isn't important. Can't you guys read it too?" Dean wobbles from the chair, and bends to pick up the tablet. He has the stone in his hands before he tumbles, having leant too far forward. He's on his back, holding the tablet in the air, laughing again. "See! Can't you see the words?"

Sam has had enough, he stomps towards Dean and rips the stone from his brother's weak grip. After placing the artifact in the awaiting hands of the angel, he picks Dean up from the ground, puts him on his feet, and then-

_Slap._

Dean's hands fly to his cheek. "Sammy, w-why'd you hit me?"

"Because you are acting like an ass, Dean. That's why. Now can you stop acting like you're six and be a fucking adult?"

Obviously this was the wrong thing to say, as Dean pushes Sam away and stumbles towards the exit, tears starting to pool in his eyes. Castiel looks towards Dean, wanting to follow, but cannot move as he too cannot understand Dean's strange behavior.

"What is wrong with him?" Sam mutters, threading his fingers through his brown locks.

"Is it not alcohol?" Castiel queries, turning his gaze towards the young Winchester.

"No," Sam breathes out, "his breath was clean. I smelt nothing."

"So then… what can it be?"

Sam mulls it over for a minute, before admitting that he doesn't know.

While they worry over Dean, the man in question falls into bed, a bottle of pills clutched in his hands.

* * *

In a town somewhere in New Mexico, in a school, a girl is running through the hallways of her empty school. She is looking everywhere, trying to find a way out. The doors shut suddenly, and she and her boyfriend were trapped. Since they were in school after hours, the darkness was thrilling… adventurous even. Now, it's just scarier. She can hear a strange clicking sound coming from behind her, and she quickens her pace.

_Click._

It seems to be catching up.

_Click_.

It's almost on top of her.

_ Click_.

She stops. The sound passed her, and continues on. She sighs, thinks she's safe, and turns around. She bumps into something, and she's sent sprawling onto her back, shirt stained with blood, and horror painted across her face.

"Kevin, no!"

Hanging from the rafters is a boy, no older than a senior, with words carved into his chest, and blood dripping everywhere.

_Click._

She looks above her and-

_Splat_.

…

_Click._

_ Click._

_ Click._

**Hey there friends! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Again, sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to make this chapter really good for all of you, and I hope I accomplished that! Have a grand ole time and remember to review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello my darlings! I am sorry for not writing for so long, I was busy with school stuff and theater stuff that I had to put everything on a back burner. But I needed to relax and this is how I do it so I made sure to finish this chapter. I know I started another story, and I promise I will update that soon, so don't worry! Just read this chapter and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot I come up with, and if anyone would like to buy that (SPN writers) I am willing to negotiate.**

**On with the story!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 8

Police tape was stretched across the hall, from one locker to the next, as curiously horrified students looked at the bloody mess left by their classmates' bodies. The pool of blood had dried under the hanging ginger male, while the shredded remains of an orange-skinned blonde covered the linoleum. The police tried to keep the kids from looking, but nothing can stop the power of a teen's desire to know what they should not.

The school was in chaos as one by one, students were being interviewed about their dead classmates: who they were, what they were doing, and so on and so on.

This was perfect for the three men who entered the scene, two in wool overcoats and the other in a nice trench coat. They approached the officer in charge, a middle-aged woman with green eyes and a touch of gray in her auburn hair.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said the tallest of the men, eyes scanning as he reached for his badge, as did his friend in the trench coat, "I am Agent Banner, and these are my associates Agents Rogers and… Stark." The last name was said with a quick nudge at the sandy blonde man with a heavy nine o'clock shadow who could not pay attention to anything for more than two minutes. He turned his head towards the conversation, and quickly pulled out his badge as well.

It was upside down.

The blue eyed man quickly fixed the error.

"We are here to investigate the two murders. Can you please give us information on the victims Miss…?"

"_Sheriff_ Madison," the older woman informed them, exhaustion showing on her face, "and sure. We can give you the details."

The group of four walked over to the bloody bodies, Agent Rogers having to drag Stark by the arm inconspicuously, as Sheriff Madison told them what they wanted.

"The boy is a Kevin Graham, while the girl is Katie Lange. They were both seniors at Guantaja High. Apparently they were here after hours doing… inappropriate activities when a student found them like this."

"Who is the student? If, that is alright," Agent Rogers asked.

"Another senior named Allison Terranova. We already interviewed her, so you can do your once-over now. She's over there." Madison pointed towards an average sized girl with long brown hair as she talked with two other students. She wore a black band shirt and ripped jeans with black laced boots. The trio quickly made their way over to the other trio.

"Excuse me, Miss…Terranova?" Banner asked, touching the girl on the shoulder. She turned around, and by the sparkle that gleamed in her eye, he knew he just shanghaied someone into his ever-growing fan-club. At this rate, he was going to have a list of followers longer than his hair.

"Yes," she says, moving away from her friends and towards the tall, moose-like man.

"Can we ask you some questions?"

"_You _can do whatever you like…"

Rogers decided he should intervene, and grabbed Allison by the shoulder, guiding her towards a secluded area, "Thank you for your cooperation. Please, follow me."

Banner breathed a sigh of relief as the high school senior followed his angelic friend.

'_God, I hope she's not like another Becky_,' Banner shudders to himself. He's lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the boy next to him.

"Yeah, you have to forgive her. We don't get attractive men in our town that often."

Banner side-eyes the kid, whose black hair was styled messily and his horn-rimmed glasses hid hazel eyes as his gaze followed the two in the corner. Feeling eyes on him, he turns to the giant.

"God no, you're not my type. You're a little too moose-y for me. But _Captain Sexy_ over there…"

Stark, who hasn't been paying attention to the conversation, whipped his head around at the mention of his blue-eyed buddy. With a loud huff, he lazily walked over to the pair in the corner. By this time, the other friend, a petite brunette with brown eyes and a cream-crop top paired with skinny jeans slaps the other boy on the arm.

"Thanks, a lot," she said, "you scared off 'Tall, Dark-Blonde, and Brooding' over there. I was getting ready to make my move!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Dee! I didn't think he was sporting a boner for that angel in a trench coat over there!"

Noticing that the conversation was reaching a territory uncomfortable even to Banner, he followed suit and went to join the others and leave the _dehydrated_ friends to their bickering. He caught the dregs of the conversation as he strode over there with his long legs.

"…And that is when I found them. I came in early to get started on my free throws, and when I saw the bodies I just started throwing up." She notices Agent Banner has joined the group, and quickly adds: "But my breath is all better now!" Allison leans up to show Banner, but he pushes her back down.

"Thanks, but I'll take your word for it."

"You know we know someone who died," Stark says out of the blue. Blue and hazel eyes latch onto green, demanding an explanation. Stark smiles back and says off-handedly: "His name was Kevin too!"

Agent Banner sighs angrily, while Rogers has to take Stark by the shoulder and lead him away.

"We'll be in the car."

Banner drags his hand across his face, and turns to face the starry-eyed girl in front of him. "Thank you for your time, but we must get going."

"Please, it was my pleasure," she steps closer to him, "and if you have _any_ questions at all, call me." She slips a tiny piece of paper into his jacket pocket, and rejoins her friends, still arguing over the other two men.

"Yeah, maybe when I decide to become a pedophile," Banner whispered under his breath, moving towards the exit; not before throwing the number into the trash, however.

* * *

"I think that went well!" "Stark" says while in the backseat of a certain 1967 Chevy Impala. Black.

"Banner" turns on the engine. "Cut the crap Dean. You were barely focusing out there. And what was with bringing up Kevin?!"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I just thought it was funny and all."

"Dean-" "Rogers" starts before a huge yawn erupted from the backseat.

"I don't know about you too, but all this lying makes a man tired. I'm hitting the hay. Night Sammy! Night Cas!"

"Dean! No!" Sam turns to stop his brother, but finds he is too late as his brother has already slipped into unconsciousness. "Dammit."

Sam starts from the parking lot, and drives in the direction of the current motel they are staying at: this one had a Native American theme. Thank the Lord they were able to get a room even with no reservations. It's a quiet drive, and about halfway there, Castiel breaks the tension.

"At least he wasn't as bad as on the way here."

Castiel is bringing up the terrible time it took for Sam and him to even get Dean into the car. He just wanted to sleep, didn't want to leave the bunker, and could barely look Sam in the eye. Dean had been doing that since the slap last night. Only after gentle prodding and promise of pie did _Castiel_ get Dean out of bed.

Sam just started the car and drove to San Jucinta, New Mexico.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "I'll take a sleeping Dean over Dean Winchester the rock star…"

During the drive to the new hunt, Dean reached to the radio and turned it on, finding the 80's rock station even in his haze. It was just Sam's luck that the first song to come out of the speakers was a well-known "Asia" song.

Let's just say he felt cold in that moment.

A sharp snore broke through the good time the two were trying to make in the cramped space. This was followed by a loud rumble:

"Mmmm….no, Cain."

Castiel turns his head towards the sleeping hunter, discomfort etched on his sleeping face, wishing nothing more than to be able to go into his dreams and ease him of his pain.

"Let's hurry Sam, Dean should be in a bed, not this car."

He eased up on the pedal.

* * *

"Next!"

In the dark dungeon that was Abbadon's throne room, a pile of bodies had grown exponentially in the corner.

Good assistants are _so_ hard to find, nowadays.

In strolls a man, with brown hair and tan skin, black eyes gleaming like an abyss and wearing a tie-dye shirt, jeans, and sandals.

"Well aren't you a blast from the past," she remarked, "what did he sell his soul for?"

"Pot brownies," the man replied, scratching at the long hair, "you got to love the dumb and ignorant."

"Words to live by," she agreed, "but do you think you could, I don't know, change. That shirt is too bright for the dark void of hopelessness that I'm going for in here."

With a snap of his fingers, the body was covered by thick, black smoke, and when it vanished stood a clean man, short hair and a nice charcoal grey suit and red tie. "Better?"

"Much," Abbadon proceeded from her throne and up to the demon. "I'd ask for your name, but given the current track record," both eyes turn towards the strewn carcasses, "I'll wait until after the trial run."

"I wouldn't expect less from the soulless queen of souls," he agreed.

"You passed the suck-up portion of the event," she turned back to her throne, "now on to the main event: what can I do to hurt the Winchesters?"

The demon knew that this was a matter of life or death, for each side. He gnawed on this question for a short time, while Abbadon picked at her nails with her fingers.

"If this is your plan, then you might be just as dumb as your meatsack was…"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking…" the other demon rushed out, trying to tack down an idea. He was running out of time. He was trapped. Wait… _trapped_!

A slow grin crept on the man's tan face. "I think I have the perfect idea!"

Abbadon rises from her throne of bones and motions for him to continue.

'_You know_,' she thinks, '_he might just be a keeper…_'

* * *

Back at the Lone Feather, the brothers and angel each do different tasks. Sam is on the computer, researching the school and any recent events that may have led to the students' mysterious deaths. Castiel was sitting in one of the beds, reading over different files, while his eyes fluttered over the other Winchester from time to time.

Dean was asleep on his bed, not even changed from his previous outfit. At least Castiel was able to remove his jacket and shoes before tucking him in, doting on him. Thank goodness Dean was not awake, as he would not have known what to done in that situation. No one ever doted on Dean Winchester.

"Any leads, Cas?"

The angel was startled from his musings, and resumed looking at the files, albeit quicker and with a slight blush.

"N-no, Sam," Castiel stuttered out, "but I'll keep searching…"

"Well the answer won't be on Dean's face."

Blue eyes stop scanning, and slowly lift from the page to the smirking hunter at the table.

"I don't know what you are talking about Sam," Castiel tried to save himself from being caught, but it was no use. But you can't fault someone for trying.

"It's okay Cas," Sam gets up, "I'm worried about him too. Ever since he came back from who knows where… he hasn't been himself. It's like he's been-"

"Possessed!?" Cas questions with alarm, blue eyes widening in fear at the thought that his hunter was not his hunter.

"No, no," Sam quickly calms the frantic man, a small smile playing at his lips, "he's not possessed. But, if you would feel more comfortable, we can sprinkle some Holy Water on him later, okay?"

A small nod is what he gets, but the blue eyes stay wide open.

"What I'm trying to say is that I think he's been traumatized. He's nervous, fidgety, and _definitely_ not acting normal. Every time I tried bringing up where he went, he switches the conversation. And he looks like he's been hiding something. Big."

"Morning!"

Both men swing their heads to the man stretching in his bed, covers pooled around his waist, and dried drool cracking on the side of his face.

"Dean!" Castiel starts, moving towards him like a moth drawn to a flame, "are you well rested?"

"Yeah…" he replies, getting up from the bed and walking towards his duffle. The reason he woke up was because his arm was starting to ache again. And that means it would only be a matter of time before an unwanted guest joined him in his mind. Like he didn't have enough voices in his head telling him everything he was doing was wrong. So he searched for the bottle of pills he must have put in here.

Five minutes of searching, and he starts getting anxious.

"What are you searching for Dean?" Castiel asks, tilting his head and squinting his eyes in the fashion Castiel has perfected since his time on Earth. If Dean were not coming off from his high, he would have stopped and appreciated how cute Cas looked. But in a race against the clock, he had no time for such simple pleasures.

"Painkillers. I know I must have put some in here."

"Dean," Castiel puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, "you did not pack your bag. I did. And I did not know you needed prescription medication…"

Before Castiel could berate himself, Dean quickly got up, realizing his effort will bear no fruit.

"It's fine Cas," he lies, "really." His Mark starts to sear again, and he can't help but start scratching at it.

"Hey guys, when you're done with your moment come over here," Sam calls them over, having gone back to his laptop after Dean woke up, "I think I might have found something."

* * *

In Hell, Abbadon and her lackey walk through a labyrinth of halls, searching for the right door that will lead them to their Plan A.

It was easy to get past Crowley's men, seeing as how she had her own army as well. Sure, a third of that army is gone, but… it was for the best. The weak have no place with her. And that is why she is going after the heavyweight.

"If I'm correct," said the assistant-in-training, "it should be just around this corner…"

Both demons get to the door they were looking for, and guarding it is one of the toughest demons she knows; of course Crowley would pick her to guard the door. The host the demon picks is a small girl with a black bob, but the black eyes are cold and her stance is full of power. Abbadon smirks.

"Calista, I was wondering when you would make your appearance…"

"Well, Abbadon, I heard you were wreaking havoc on the lower levels, and, well, I haven't repaid you for the last time…"

The lackey senses the tension in the air, and steps to the side, letting the two females have their arena.

"I was in the right last time, seeing as how you tried to kill me."

"Well you had it coming when you killed Mephisto-"

"That bastard had it coming! He knew what would happen if he kept flirting with me. I made that clear when I took the bottle of wine he gave me and smashed it over his thick skull."

"Grah!" Calista lept at Abbadon, anger boiling over, and the two are at it. Their blows are lightning, and the only other in the room cannot keep up, his eyes moving back and forth. He'd have better luck keeping up with a Wimbledon match then with these two queens of mean.

Calista kicks Abbadon in the jaw.

Abbadon get a good blow in the gut.

The fighting has soon devolved into scratching and hair pulling.

"I'm going to make you regret the day you came out of that hell-fire, you bitch!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you through the seven layers of denial you've buried yourself in, you poor excuse for a demon!"

Abbadon was on her back, with Calista's small figure towering over her, arms raised ready to plunge the knife straight through her heart.

"I know I promised Crowley he would get you alive, but I've waited too long for this…"

The man is about to intervene, but out of the corner of his eyes, he sees ruby lips form a tiny smirk.

"Well then I guess you'll have to wait longer, twist un bitcho."

And with that, she brings her leg up, and puts her heel right through the enraged demon's heart. Lightning flashes through her veins and her pupils flash white, and the cold vessel is left to collapse onto the ground, lifeless.

"That was…" is all the stunned man could say as he washes Abbadon dust herself off.

"Beautiful," she finishes, "I thought so too. Demon-knife boots: momma never leaves home without them." As she makes her way towards the doors, you can hear a faint melody hummed through the air. It was a classic Nancy Sinatra hint. This broke the spell the other was under, and he followed his boss through the doors, until they were face to face with what they came for.

In the room, which was hotter than a thousand suns, were two things. One was a boy, young and blonde, huddled in the corner, muttering to himself, and the other was a cloud of black, circling the roof of the cage both were trapped in. It stops, and turns towards the invited guests.

"Hello, old friend," Abbadon purrs as she moves forward, hand coming up to grip one of the bars, "I've got a deal to make…"

* * *

"Are you sure about this…" Dean says, eyes darting around every few seconds in the darkened environment, following both Castiel and Sam.

"Completely," Sam confirms, "it says the kid committed suicide around six months ago because he was being bullied, and the guy who was murdered was one of the bullies. A trial was brought forward, but no claims could be brought against the offenders. It has to be him."

The trio were making their way through the cemetery, trying to find the grave that belonged to a certain Jordan Tureskt. They were getting close.

Sam was focused, eyes scanning through the rows of headstones, looking for the right one.

Castiel, however, was having a hard time concentrating, as Dean's ray of light kept going all over the place, the flashlight in his hand shaking. He turns towards his hunter.

"Dean, are you fine?"

Dean, not looking where he was going, collided with Castiel, and let out a startled yelp. He was the worst time focusing, having trouble staying on a single thought that didn't lead back to the pain meds.

"I'm sorry, Cas, what did you say?"

"Dean, are you okay? You seem scared…"

Dean stretched his face into an obviously fake grin. "Me, scared? Pfft, Cas, do you know me?"

"Yes, Dean, I do. That is why your behavior is scaring me. You do know you can tell me anything."

Dean's face returns to the frown from before. He sighs. "Yea, Cas, I do. Look, it's just that-"

"Guys! I found it!"

Sam's discovery draws the attention of both men.

"I guess we better go help…"

"Dean-"

"C'mon Cas."

Dean couldn't even look Castiel in the eye as he moved forward to where his brother started shoveling dirt. Sam was already starting to make good progress, and with the help of Castiel and the little Dean could give, the coffin was in their sights.

Sam and Castiel were in the trench, while Dean was outside twiddling his thumbs, giving up after the first hour, being too tired to even continue.

"Dean! Can you toss down the salt and lighter fluid?"

Dean looks up, "Sure, Sammy." He gets up from the ground and makes it to the duffle that was dropped beside the grave. He picks up both items, but as he gets ready to toss them inside, he gets tossed to the ground. He lets out a yelp.

"Dean!"

Standing over Dean, is the lifeless eyes of a teenager, with a tight noose around his neck. Now, Dean knows what to do in this situation. He would take the gun that is nearby and blast the sucker full of rock salt. Yet, Dean is paralyzed, the only thing he can feel is the fear from the situation and the pain from his Mark. His mind races, and dregs of Cain's voice start to come through their connection.

'_Not now_,' Dean thinks, closing his eyes, prepared to die.

His eyes are closed, and he is so prepared to join the dead, that he misses the screech and the tiny pellets of salt falling over his prone figure.

"Dean?"

Dean opens his eyes to the concerned blue staring back at him, meeting his best friend from his position over him.

When the two men in the grave heard Dean's yelp, they jumped out of the grave to see what the problem was. They saw Dean's prone figure, staring helplessly at the ghost. The gun was in reach, but he did not grab it. Castiel reacted on instinct to protect Dean, grabbing the other gun from the duffle and blasting the creature who even thought of hurting his Dean.

"Where'd he go?" Dean's eyes were big and confused, wondering why he was still alive.

"I shot him, Dean," Castiel squints his eyes, confusion evident in them too.

They both hear a terrible moaning, and the ghost is coming back for round two. Castiel picks up the gun, and Dean gets behind the trench coat. Before he could reach the two, Jordan lets out a strangled sound, and the ghost turns to dust before their eyes. They turn towards the grave, where Sam had found the salt and lighter fluid and finished the job.

"There," Sam says, "he should stop now…" With one weird mystery wrapped up, he then turns towards the next. "What the hell was that Dean?"

"What was what?"

"You froze. You never freeze. You were about to die, Dean? What's the matter with you?!"

Sam advanced on Dean, gripping his shoulders tight and shaking. Dean tries to tear himself free. "There's nothing wrong, Sammy." He keeps shaking, but Sam's hold gets tighter. "You're hurting me Sam, stop it!"

Sam finally takes a good look at Dean's face, and he can see the crest-fallen features clearly. His eyes are glassy, and his brows drawn. Sam looks down, swallows, and let's go.

"I-I gotta go," Dean mutters, and starts to stumble away.

"Dean!" Castiel reaches for his friend, voice thick with emotion. But before he can get far, Sam grabs his sleeve.

"Let him go, Cas," Sam drawls, "he needs some time…"

* * *

Dean wanders the streets at night, head fuzzy, throat dry, and Mark burning. He needs his pills, but… but he doesn't have them. With each step he gets clumsier and clumsier, almost falling at the last step. He leans against the cool brick, sliding down until his long bow legs are stretched across the concrete. He's sweating, he's tired, and he can't last any longer. Cain's voice is starting to get stronger. Telling him to go home. Telling him to do the right thing. He can't take it. He opens his eyes to stare out at the inky darkness of the night, but his gaze catches on a sign. A sign of his salvation.

Sam and Castiel are back at the motel. Sam is forlorn on his bed, staring at his hands, wondering how he could do that to his brother. He had let his rage get the better of him, and his brother suffered. He knows Dean is going through some things, but Sam has to be patient and help him however he can. God knows how many times Dean has done that for Sam. Castiel, on the other hand, can only stare out the window as he waits for his light to return. He feels empty, with Dean out there, where anything could happen to him. He feels his pain. Something isn't right, and he must figure out what it is.

A simple click. The backdoor slowly opens, and a lone figure makes its way through the darkened room. Hood up, obscured from any cameras around. He makes his way towards the back. He passes through an aisle, and knocks over one of the items. He picks up the cracked mirror, and the reflection looking back scares the robber, and he quickly places it back where it was. Dull green eyes, clammy skin covered in freckles, and messy scruff.

'_Why must I fall for such stubborn people_,' Castiel thinks as he looks through the window, eyes alert for any hint of Dean. The only thing to catch his eye is one of the street lamps, blinking and finally burning out.

The glass cabinets are broken, and the man unwraps his hands from the fabric he covered them in. He reaches in and collects around five bottles, all of the same prescription. Then he makes his way back from where he came, and into the inky darkness.

'_Dean, wherever you are_,' Sam thinks, '_please, don't do something stupd…_'

In an alleyway, the hood comes down… the bottle comes towards his lips, and the little blue tablets make their way into the mouth. Three or four make it past the teeth before he closes his mouth, and lets out a relaxing sigh. Coming out of the alleyway, he starts to stagger about, onto his next destination.

Just as a strange fog starts to roll in.

* * *

Dean is now at a bar, his mind finally at ease, and a bottle of cool beer relaxing in his easy grip. His mind is a gentle static, and he is relaxing with hooded eyes and a lazy grin. Just as he brings the neck of the bottle towards his mouth, he feels a short tap on his shoulders. He turns to see a girl with black hair and blue eyes timidly looking up at him through her lashes, a friendly smile on her face.

"Excuse me," she starts, "I was wondering if you could help my friends and I out with this little dilemma we ran into." She gestures to a group of 3 guys and 4 girls, all with blue eyes and black hair.

'_Odd_,' Dean thinks. "What is it?" he asks happily.

"Well, we were waiting for another person to complete our… _party_… but he texted last minute and said he couldn't make it. We were wondering if you wouldn't mind, _helping_ us with our problem. Don't worry, we've all been checked over and we're clean, and, if you want, you can say no. I mean, the only reason we are asking you is because you just look attractive and, really, look at everyone else in this bar and-"

Dean silences the girl with a raised hand. Normally, Dean would laugh his way out of the bar and then back to the motel. However…

"I'd be happy to help."

The girl's scared smile is replaced with an actual one as she races back to tell her friends the great news. The friends who, along with her, did not all have black hair… or blue eyes.

Before she comes back to bring Dean back to the place, he swallows two more pills, and downs the rest of his beer.

* * *

That night, wild hands roamed over pliant bodies… there was a _lot _of kissing, and Dean was in the middle of it. One moment he was caressing a girls breasts, and the next he was stroking another man's penis. He was not only lost in a mental sense, but now he was lost in a physical sense as well. He needed a release, and this tangle of bodies was just what he needed. The pleasurable groans were loud and erotic, and Dean was the loudest. This was the true sense of chaos, and Dean couldn't be happier. While he was penetrating one girl, a guy was right behind him doing the same to him. He was on the brink, about to be pushed right over the edge. And as he came only one thought was on his mind:

'_Cas'_

Dean slept peacefully that night, with his head on a woman's bust, one hand lazily circling some man's hole, while the other was tangled in long blonde locks.

* * *

"Bartholomew," an angel says, "you need to take a look at this…"

The angry blonde angel follows the scared voice of a man at the monitor.

"What is it, Ambriel?"

"The monitors, they… they can't be right," the young red-head mutters.

"What's on the monitors," Bartholomew asks, shaking the younger out of his strange stupor, "is it Metatron?"

The monitors in question were whizzing with strange sounds and different lights were shining across it.

"No, no, it's far worse…" Ambriel lets out.

"Worse?" Bartholomew's eyes widen.

Ambriel turns towards his leader and lets out the biggest fear they've had since the angels fell.

"Lucifer is loose."

**And I leave you on that note my pretties! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and the many cliffhangers I leave you on! And forgive me if that little scene of orgy intimacy wasn't fantastic, as I have no experience as to what that might be like. But what I do know how to write is a good cliffhanger! And that is why I am evil! Please review, because it makes me happy and a happy writer is a writer who writes… stuff… Review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I know this chapter is right on the heels of the last one, but I couldn't help myself. The ideas just flowed from me, and I needed to get it out before I lost everything. So, here is Chapter 9, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as you did the last chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot and OC's.**

**And remember to review after the story is all read and done!**

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 9

Rays of sunlight shoot through the blinds of the dingy apartment, finding their mark on the scruffy face of a certain slumbering hunter. His eyes scrunch, trying to counter-act the waking effects of the morning. One emerald eye pops open, and the other follows suit as his mouth turns into a disgruntled frown. His mouth is cottony and tastes like a weird film. He runs his tongue over his teeth, and starts to get up.

'_What happened last night?_'

His hand lands on an exposed member of another person, and Dean realizes he is not alone on the bed. In fact, there are several someone's on the bed. That is when he notices the dried cum on his stomach, and the ache that's developing in his ass, matching the one in his head. His hands go to massage his temple, and he makes the quick decision to get out while he can. He stumbles from the pile of limp bodies, and makes his way around the room, picking up stray articles of clothes along the way. He's got his jacket, pants, and shirt on before a discordant snore shoots through the air. Dean whips his head in the direction of the sound, and notices the tell-tale signs of someone getting up. With no more time, Dean rushes through the front door, forgetting his shoes, his socks, and especially his underwear.

He makes it down the steps of the building, and out into the harsh world. The harsh, bright, loud world. Dean almost forgot about his hangover.

Two pills fixes that quickly.

He makes his way down the street, bare feet hitting the pavement with small smacks, his head whipping around trying to find a clue as to where he was. A little ways down the road he finally finds a sign, and thinks back to where he left his brother and angel. He can't remember the name at the moment, but he knows it was something racist.

'_The Tidy Tomohawk…_'

That wasn't right.

'_Pocahontas Palace…_'

No. Still not getting it.

'_…The Lone Feather?_'

Bingo! Dean snaps his fingers as he places the name, then looks for the closest thing that could give him directions. He turns the corner and keeps moving forward, but stops when he's about to pass a phone booth. In the dingy, little, poor excuse for a telephone, he spots a worn out copy of a phone booth. He stares into that little enclave for around two minutes, squinting eyes, mouth turned down, putting pieces together. Soon, it hits him that phone books contain phone numbers, that he can use the phone booth to call the place and ask for directions!

'_But_,' he thinks, '_I don't have any money…_'

Dean is so strung out, he doesn't even realize he has both a wallet, and a _cellphone_ in his pocket. But to him, they are non-existant. He wouldn't know what they are even if they were in front of him, and such a shame too. Since his phone has at least twenty different messages from Castiel, asking the same question:

'Where are you?'

Dean is trying to solve his dilemma when a dirty hand taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me sir," says a man with an unkempt beard, ripped clothing, and a gap-toothed smile, "can I please use the bathroom?"

Dean smiles, "Go right ahead!"

The man nods obligingly, and then proceeds to do his business in the place where Dean was standing not three seconds ago. A lone woman passes by, obviously on her way to work, and she catches sight of the two men. She stops.

"Oh you poor men," she says, "here, take this." She thrusts two dollar bills out, hoping the men would get the hint and take the proffered money so she can feel better about herself and carry on with her life. The man with no sense of social laws, whips himself back in and takes the dollar before strolling along, going to spend his money on whatever catches his eye first. Dean looks at the dollar confusedly. The woman shakes it again.

"Can I use it in the phone booth?" he asks, tilting his head in a manner similar to that of his friend.

This stuns the woman, not expecting the bum to have the audacity to even speak to her. She starts to regret ever even trying to do some good.

"No… you need change for that thing," she states slowly, "would you like some?"

Dean looks everything like the little puppy he is and shakes his head rapidly, his body moving with the force of the shaking. The dollar bill is exchanged for four quarters, and the woman's high heels resume their clickity-clack on the pavement. Dean turns back towards booth, and steps into it.

Even though it was used as a bathroom only a minute ago.

Dean looks through the phone book, trying to find the name of the motel where the trio rested. He finds it, puts the change in, and starts to dial. While the dial tone starts to ring, he gets the strange sensation that he's standing on something wet. He'd think on it more, but a bored voice is reverberating from the plastic piece of public property.

"Hello, welcome to the Lone Feather, my name is She Who Hears Rings, how may I help you?"

"Uh-hello?" Dean awkwardly stammers, "I'm-uh-looking for directions to the Lone Feather-"

"Where are you presently?"

"Whe-What?"

"What is your location?"

Dean steps out of the booth and looks to the green signs that stem from the metal pole. "Uhhh…. 3rd and Main?"

"Well, we are close by," the shrill yet bored voice responds, "just keep walking until you reach 5th and take a right, walk down two more blocks, hang a left, and you'll find the teepee sign. You got that?"

Dean tried his hardest to focus on the directions, and he got most of it. Now the only problem would be to see if he actually remembers what he heard. "I think so?"

"Thank you for your questions, may the spirit of the land support your path." And with that last sentence, filled to the brim with disgust, is uttered, the line goes dead. Dean looks at the useless piece of technology, and then drops it. He starts to follow the directions, repeating them over and over in his head.

Too bad he takes a left instead of a right on 5th.

* * *

"What do you have for me today?"

Abbadon is looking at the ebony skinned beauty before her, who holds herself well before the demon queen. Ever since her last assistant was…_ fired_… she's continued her search for her personal lackey.

And for Plan B.

"Well, your highness," she starts, her accent rich and deep, her vessel coming straight from Africa, "since the terrible miscalculations made on my predecessor, I have formulated something even better."

A week ago, Abbadon tried to get the former King of Hell, and a former lover, on her side against the smug bastard known as Crowley to his enemies, and nothing else, since he has no friends. She tried every trick in the book, seduction, bargaining, the works! Yet he didn't want to share power, oh no, he wanted it all.

She couldn't have another rival in her quest for power.

So off to the Earth he goes, and never to return!

"What is it?"

"What we need is someone who knows the Winchesters to take them down. Someone who hates them enough to join us in your quest for power!"

Abbadon gives this some thought, and finds she likes the idea very much.

"But who do we find, the list of people who hate the Winchesters starts with the two brothers themselves!" Abbadon snarkily remarks.

The dark woman smiles evilly, the pearly whites contrasting greatly with her skin.

"Oh I have a good idea of who…"

* * *

"Cas!"

The tired angel man jumps from his slumped position in the chair. He blinks his eyes, adjusting the bloodshot blues to the aggravating light. His vision, blurry at first, finally focuses on the man in front of him. He squints at the hazel, and a question form on his lips:

"How long have I been unconscious?"

A sad smile plays on Sam's face, "About five minutes. How long have you been up?"

"I did not sleep last night," Castiel yawned, "I waited all night for Dean."

"And…" Sam left off, hoping Castiel would continue.

"And nothing, Sam," Castiel sighed, "your _stubborn_ brother has not returned."

Sam turns away, eyes downcast, head lowered, and he moves away from the place the angel has taken up vigilance, and returns to the bed. He places his head in his hands, his long hair cascades the front of his face. The stress of Dean is not helping with his recovery in the slightest. He's getting more tired by the day, having to deal with all the shit Dean keeps piling on his shoulders. Now, Sam is a patient guy, but if you push him far enough he will snap. He's done so before, back at the bunker. He almost lost it again at the graveyard.

But that is not what Dean needs. Something is happening to his brother, and he's only just realizing that he needs to be a shoulder to lean on, and not some added pressure to the already fucked up problem Dean has weighing on his back.

While Sam digs himself deeper into worry on one side of the room, Castiel is already buried, six feet under, on the other side by the window. His eyes blankly stare out the window, like the worrying wife of a soldier out at battle, waiting for his man to return safe and sound. Throughout the night he's had false alarms. He almost woke Sam up for one of them. But each time it wasn't Dean, a pain akin to a knife through the heart shot through Castiel's entire body.

He turns to look at the younger Winchester, noticing the hunched posture and the shaking features, and can tell that he is on the verge of a panic attack. Not knowing what to do, he quickly vacates his spot and heads to the bed, spot dipping under his added weight. The other man has not noticed his presence. And then Castiel does what he thinks would help.

He hugs Sam, with all the strength he can muster. Castiel tries to convey his hope and his belief to Sam through the pressure of the hug, trying to break him from his self-afflicted state.

Sam stops shaking, and soon, he grips Castiel's forearms like a man holding onto rope for his life, and relaxes into the hug. He starts to feel better.

"There, there, Sam," Castiel mutters through Sam's hair, his head ending up tucked under Castiel's chin, "Dean will be safe. It is Dean. When has he ever-" Castiel stops when he starts to lose credibility. "I am sure that wherever he is, Dean will-Dean!"

The angel releases Sam and heads towards the window, his eyes catching a staggering figure in the distance, a familiar figure. Sam follows.

"Cas," Sam grumbles, "that can't be Dean. It's- Dean!" Taking a closer look, Sam starts to notice the resemblance. Both men fly from their rooms, and out into the streets where they try to reach Dean before he passes the motel.

"Dean!" Sam calls. Dean stumbles, slowing down, head spinning around, trying to find the source of the sound. His head swivels to find two running figures, and his finger points up at himself as if to ask: 'Me?'

Castiel reaches Dean first, because even though Sam has longer legs the power of love propels you to great feats. He jumps onto Dean, and the unexpected wanderer falls to the ground, landing roughly on his back. Castiel hugs Dean with more strength than when he hugged Sam, conveying a different message to this brother than the other.

Sam stops just shy of the sprawled couple on the ground, chuckling at the tight grip of the angel and the slack arms of the hunter.

"Um, Cas?" Sam starts, "maybe Dean wants to get up off the ground?"

Castiel's eyes widen in shock, and he quickly jumps off his hunter, extending his hand to help him off the ground. Once Dean is again vertical, Castiel notices his footwear. Or, lack thereof.

"Dean," Castiel slowly starts, "where are your shoes?"

Sam and Dean both look down, and are confused. Dean notices his bare feet for the first time, wiggling his toes against the gravel.

"Huh," Dean drawls, "S'wondering why my feet were cold?" Then he starts to chuckle.

Castiel grips his hand. "Come on in, Dean, we'll get you cleaned up." Dean blindly follows Castiel, eyes spinning in his head, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to even notice his surroundings. Sam is still standing where he once was. Something wasn't right. Where was Dean last night? Why was Dean acting so strange? Why did he look so lost when he saw the pair? Sam turns his gaze at the place the other two were before, and notices a strange item that wasn't there before.

He makes his way over to the offending evidence, picks it up, and all sympathy that had been building throughout the night is shattered in the instant he reads the label.

Castiel, on the other hand, has taken Dean into the bathroom, ran a washcloth under some water, and knelt before the prone figure on the toilet, and starts to wash the muck and grime and… stale pee? While the mind of the hunter is a calming static, Castiel's is a whirlwind. What could have happened to his hunter that would leave him wandering the streets? Was he like this all night? Why is he looking the way he is now? Blue eyes look up, to gaze into the emerald eyes that usually convey so much emotion, only to find that they were closed off and dull. Lifeless, even. Castiel's near human state over-flowed with emotions, and he couldn't help but cry for his hunter. He cried for the suffering that he has no power over. Some of the tears fall from his cheeks and onto Dean's feet, while Castiel methodically cleans them.

The slamming of the front door brings both men from their fantasy lands, and crashing back to the real world.

"Dean!"

Castiel can detect anger in the brother's voice, and makes his way with the person in question to the main room, finding the imposing man standing, and in his hands a small orange capsule, half-filled with little tablets. While Dean smiles brightly, contrasting with the patented bitch-face #45, Castiel tilts his head in the way only he knows how.

"I thought I didn't pack your pain medication Dean?"

"You didn't," Sam addresses Castiel, then whirls on Dean, "Dean? Where'd you get this?"

Dean had moved towards the bed, laying spread eagle on the furniture, and looks with half-lidded eyes at his brother. "I got some from the local… place that sells them!" Another giggle. A little stretch.

"And how many have you had?"

Now this takes Dean more than a minute to think about. He starts to count on his hands, then his toes, until he gives up around sixteen. "I don't know! I lost track!"

Unable to hold back his anger, Sam lugs the bottle at Dean, barely missing his head, the plastic smashing against the wall, and Dean's relaxed frame becoming nervous. He starts to pick up the fallen tablets, trying to save the precious little pills he so desperately needs. Sam can only stare at his brother, his once mighty protector reduced to a common drug-addict. The anger is mixed with contempt, and Sam can barely look at him when he addresses him.

"Dean," he starts, but loses ground. "Dean, I don't know what is wrong with you that you would turn to _this_, but… but it can't be as bad as you think. You should know that we are here for you, we can _help_ you. Why must you be so…so damn _stubborn_, and force yourself to go through everything by yourself! I'm not a little kid anymore, I'm not Sammy! I am a grown ass man, and I can take care of myself. But obviously, you can't. So tell us what is wrong so we know where to start helping you!"

Dean pauses in his picking to stare up at Sam, sober for the smallest of moments as he whispers, "You can't help, Sam." Then he slips back into the haze he has grown accustomed to, and finishes his task.

Sam is about to lecture Dean again, but decides against it, steeling his expressions and turning back towards the door.

"We leave in ten minutes. I'm driving. If you aren't there, I'm leaving without you."

Sam then exits the room to wait silently in the Impala, and Castiel just stands there, looking between the door and the man on the floor, dumbstruck by the tension. He snaps himself out of it, and focuses on his hunter. He heads towards him and bends down. Dean is lost counting the pills, trying to reassure himself that they are all there, and when Castiel covers Dean's hands with his own, glassy green eyes stare into compassionate blue.

"Let's get you ready, Dean."

And like a doting parent to their child, Castiel helps Dean pack.

* * *

A woman with flowing brown hair and tan skin, wearing a leather jacket, tank top, dark skinny jeans, and motorcycle boots, stands before the mistress of mean and her side-kick of the minute.

"So," Abbadon states, "do you think you would be up for the task?"

The woman replies in a snarky British accent, "I am ready. The Winchesters won't know what hits them."

"Good," the red-head queen states, turning with her lackey, "then go at it!"

As they leave the woman, Abbadon turns to her new companion, "Since you'll be sticking with me for a while, honey, what is your name?"

The ebony demon smirks. "The name is Urbuna."

Back with the British woman, she goes the opposite direction, a smile fixed upon her face.

"Get ready boys," she laughs, "Bela is back in the game."

* * *

A knock resounds in an apartment room filled with a group of friends, all lying across one another. They were relaxing in the afterglow of their wonderful night together, even if they were a man short. And boy was he a fire-cracker last night. They were going to offer him a permanent fixture in their group, but he left before they could even find out his name. The girl who approached Dean the night before answers the door, and finds a short, smarmy man in a black suit on the other side.

"I'm sorry, we don't want to know about the path to salvation," she says while starting to close the door. The man chuckles with a thick accent.

"That's a good one lass," he says, strolling into the room like he owned the place, "but actually I'm wondering if you have seen a man, about yea high, green eyes, blonde hair, tan skin, freckles, a bit of a martyr complex…"

One of the men in the back speaks up. "Oh yeah, we've _seen_ him, if you know what I mean." He wiggles his eyebrows and the group starts to laugh. The small man looks around at the people, and really starts to look at them, and the surrounding area. Then he smiles to himself.

"Oh, Squirrel, what have you gotten into?" he mutters to himself, glad to have some new knowledge over the tall hunter.

"Why are you looking for him?" a buxom blonde asks, who's seat of choice is the lap of a burly black man.

"Personal business," he responds while leaving, "but since he is no longer here, I will leave you to your wallowing you pigs." And, since he is the King of Hell, snaps his fingers, and one by one the patrons of the apartment turned into the very swine he called them. The man closes the door, and then heads out of the apartment complex.

"Well," he says, "onto the next stop."

* * *

The road home was a long one, filled with grumblings from Sam, random outbursts from Dean, and soothing words from Castiel. When they reached the Bunker, the only two aware members of the trio were glad to get out of the car. Sam slams the door, taking awful care of Baby, trying to snap Dean into some semblance of self-awareness, but the man was babbling to himself while Castiel carried him to his room, having taken more pills when their backs were turned.

Just as the men were making their way through the living room, they heard a faint sound.

Whistling.

Someone was in the bunker with them!

Castiel and Sam look at each other, silent commands being communicated between the two. Castiel places Dean down on the sofa, giving him a pillow to entertain himself with, and draws out his angel blade while Sam holds his pistol in his hand. They slowly creep throughout the house, moving closer and closer to where the sound was coming from.

The intruder was in the kitchen.

They make it to the door, and give each other a nod as Sam busts it open with his foot, and both make their way in, ready to attack. The sight they are greeted with is not what they were expecting.

In their kitchen is a man, with a full beard and graying hair, shucking corn. He glances from his work, then quickly looks back down.

"I see the welcome wagon has rolled in…"

"Hey, guys, what was that weird sou-" Dean stumbled his way to the kitchen, standing in the middle of the two men, and lost his voice at the sight of the familiar man. His usually tan skin goes pale, and you can make out each freckle on his face. His green eyes widen, and his hand instantly goes to where his Mark is. "No…"

"We meet again, Dean."

Accusatory eyes meet Dean from both Sam and Castiel, but he notices them not. Wrapped in his head, he starts to hyperventilate, the stress of the situation catching up to him. No amount of pills could stop him from this. So, he does what he could only do in the moment…

He faints.

Castiel drops his blade and goes to his fallen friend, trying to wake him back up, while Sam moves in front of the two, gun still up. "Who are you?" he demands, shaking the gun to emphasize who has the upper hand. Like that matters.

"Why," the country man responds, dropping his corn, "I'm Cain."

* * *

Cars chase after a cloud of black smoke, vials in hands, and men in suits uttering incantations trying to trap the spinning cloud from escaping. The essence weaved in and out, serpentine style, and was doing its best at losing the men in the car. It saw its chance when an alley appeared, and it turned into it. It was narrow enough, so the men in the car could not progress forward.

The cars stop, and the men get out. The leader of the search party turns to the others. "Communicate with home base," he orders, "tell them we lost him."

The black fog continues his journey through the cracks and crevices, putting as much distance between himself and his pursuers. When it thinks it is safe enough, it stops to take in its surroundings. That is when it hears a noise. He is on the alert, ready to flee at the chance, when he realizes it is the sound of sobbing. The smoke investigates.

Beside a dumpster, a boy is slumped in on himself. A teen no older than seventeen, with wild brown hair, and red-rimmed whiskey eyes, and pale skin dotted with moles over his lanky body.

The cloud cannot help but feel for the boy, but also notices his chance. He engulfs the boy, and the boy looks terrifyingly around him, lost in black.

'_Hello, lost soul, do you need help?_'

The boy, scared, but unknowingly trusting the strange voice, nods his head.

'_Well, I can try my best… but you need to do something for me…'_

"An-anything," the boy sniffles, running his fist across his nose, hope flashing in his amber eyes.

'_Allow me to use your body as a vessel, and all you will need will come to you.'_

This startles the boy… but then he thinks, anything would be better than the life he is living now. So, the boy agrees.

'_Good.'_

The black cloud accumulates, and then begins its journey down the boy's throat, taking over his host.

When the process is complete, Lucifer looks down at his new vessel, and cannot help but feel happy.

**Hey guys! So yes, Bela is back and Lucifer gets a new vessel (I based it off Dylan O'Brien so… yeah). Remember to review!**


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